


Your Steady Hands

by MomentsOfWeakness



Series: The Blaine Hummel 'Verse [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, PTSD, Rape Recovery, flashbacks to sexual assault, physical assault of a minor by other minors, references to the sexual assault of a minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MomentsOfWeakness/pseuds/MomentsOfWeakness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>grief<br/>–noun<br/>1. keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.<br/>2. a cause or occasion of keen distress or sorrow. </p><p>What do you do after you lose absolutely everything? Blaine would really like to know.</p><p>A sequel to Number Not The Voices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story deals with rape and the process of rape recovery. While there are no overly explicit scenes there are a few flashbacks that could be triggering, so please be cautious when reading.

Finn's not that bright. He knows this. He did fall for that whole 'hot tub pregnancy' thing after all (can he really be blamed if he trusted Quinn because he loved her?) and no matter how hard he studies, the only time his grades get better is right before a big game (wouldn't do to have the star quarterback get suspended from playing because he was failing history, now would it?).

So yeah, Finn knows he's not very smart. But he's not exactly stupid either. He's got a pretty good sense of how the world works and where he stands in it. He sees a lot of things people don't expect him to.

He knows that the whole Quinn and Sam thing is just a sham; both of them just want what every teenager wants, to be popular, to be on top of the heap instead of struggling under it where the slushies and dumpster dives are. He knows that Mr. Schue is so not okay with Ms. Pillsbury being married to someone that's not him. He seems half alive now when she walks into the choir room, when she used to light him up like a firework.

And he also knows that Blaine suddenly staying with them, basically being adopted by their parents (and does that make Blaine and Kurt brothers now, because that's kind of weird), isn't all that it seems.

When his mom had called him at Artie's two weekends ago and asked him to stay the night, on a school night too, he knew something was up. At first he had thought maybe she and Burt were fighting and he was worried that they would get a divorce. That's what happened when parents fought, right?

But Artie had assured him that sometimes parents fought for no reason and even if it got really bad it was usually okay in the end. He had felt better after that and had forgotten all about it while Artie kicked his ass at Black Ops. (Artie said he liked playing games where he got to run around a lot. That made a lot of sense to Finn.)

Then his mom had asked the Abrams if he could stay for a couple more days and he had gotten worried again. When he finally went home Blaine was there again and everyone looked...hollow. Burt had pulled him aside and stuttered through a conversation about how Blaine had been hurt, though he didn't say _how_ , and that he was going to be staying with them 'while he got better'.

A few days after that 'while he got better' had turned into 'a while, we'll see'. And then the lawyer had come and now it was forever, and that was just...weird. It was weird seeing Blaine at dinner every night, knowing that he wasn't going home. That _this_ was home for him now. It was weird not seeing him in his Dalton uniform and even weirder that they weren't going back to Dalton at all.

Finn had overheard his mom and Burt talking about Blaine and Kurt and school last night.

“I just don't like it,” his mom had sighed, and Finn knew she was probably curled up with Burt on the couch, even though he couldn't see them from the hall. They did that a lot, the snuggling and kissing stuff that Finn though was kind of gross because they were old because mom had never done that with any of the other guys she had dated, but they were all idiots that didn't love her like Burt did.)

“You think I do?” Burt had asked, his tone a little harsh but Finn knew it was just because he was stressed and tired, not because he was mad at Finn's mom. Burt never got mad at her. Finn, sure, Kurt too, but never Carole. Finn thought it was silly that he ever thought they were fighting. They never fought. He guessed they were still in the honeymoon stage everyone talked about.

“But there's nothing we can do. I'm not sending them to another boarding school. I want them here with us.”

To watch over them, Finn knew. To make sure they didn't get hurt again.

“And the only way to send them to a different public school is if we moved out of Lima. And we know that's not an option. I can't move the business in this economy and it wouldn’t be fair to Finn.”

Finn had wondered briefly if he would be mad if they had to move to keep Kurt and Blaine safe and he thought, selfishly, that yeah he would be. His whole life was here, he couldn't help it.

“But you know they're not safe at McKinley. Not with those boys still there.”

“Maybe it'll be better now that there's two of them. Now that people know what it was like for Kurt before.”

“Maybe.”

Two gay students in a school of six hundred. Maybe it'll be twice as bad, Finn thought.

Finn knew that Burt was just being optimistic because they had no other choice. He also knew that they hadn't told him everything about how Blaine had been 'hurt'.

He had seen the bruises around Blaine’s neck, the ones on his wrists. He saw the way he flinched at sudden movements and never left Kurt's side, as if he needed a barrier between himself and the rest of the world.

Finn remembered Kelly Oswald from freshmen year. He remembered how she had come to class one day after being gone for a week, with a black eye that was still healing and a long cut on her neck. She had bruises on her wrists too and all the girls had whispered about it behind her back.

Two weeks later an assembly had been called and Ms. Pillsbury had told them all that Kelly had tried to kill herself, and would they all like a pamphlet on teen suicide. She had also passed out pamphlets with the words 'sexual assault' on them in bold, scary letters and all the girls had looked guilty.

That was the first time Finn had ever thought about it. Sure, he knew what it was, but it was something that happened in the movies or in other towns. People in Lima didn't get raped. Things like that just didn't happen here.

So he got it, even if no one told him. Blaine hadn't been 'hurt', he had been raped. But realizing that had just confused Finn more. Guys didn't get raped, girls did. At least, you never heard about it on the news. Obviously it happened or it wouldn't have happened to Blaine. He couldn't be the only one, right?

So Finn had gotten onto the computer late at night when everyone else was in bed (he wasn't sure if they were all sleeping or not, no one really slept around their house these days) and looked it up.

He found out that the reason he had never heard of guys being raped before was because it was, like, the least reported crime ever. According to the sites he had found almost ten percent of guys would be sexually assaulted sometime in their life, and it wasn't just little kids. But no one talked about it.

Finn wondered, as he lay awake at night trying to wrap his head around everything that was going on, if Karofsky kissing Kurt counted as sexual assault. (Yeah, he knew about that too, only Kurt didn't know he knew. He had overheard Kurt talking to Blaine about it over the phone when he had been home one weekend.) He wondered if Burt would still be sending Blaine and Kurt to McKinley if he knew about that kiss. Probably not. But it wasn't his place to tell, so he didn't say anything.

Which just brought him back to the main problem. Karofsky, and the other jocks too, but mostly Karofsky. By all accounts things had gotten worse between him and Kurt after the kiss, which didn't make sense at all. If Karofsky was gay too why did he hate Kurt so much? (And seriously, Karofsky being gay just sort of blew Finn's mind. He tried not to think about it too much because it gave him a headache.)

Finn was worried about what Karofsky would do when he found out Kurt was back, but he was even more worried about what he would do to Blaine. If Blaine knew about Karofsky too then he was bound to get harassed just as much as Kurt.

Blaine just couldn't handle that right now. He flinched any time Finn got too close to him. (And Finn tried not to care. He got it, really, except...he didn't flinch when Kurt or Burt touched him and that kind of made Finn wonder what that said about _him_.) So he couldn't imagine what would happen if Blaine got slammed into a locker or thrown in the dumpsters.

Finn knew he had to do something, and quick. Kurt and Blaine were starting school again on Monday, and the way Finn figured it, with Burt and his mom sort of adopting Blaine, that made him Finn's brother too. So that promise he had made to Kurt at the wedding counted for Blaine too.

He knew what he had to do.

*

Finn took a deep breath and steeled himself for what he was about to do. Karofsky was the last one in the locker room after their Saturday practice, so this was the last opportunity Finn would have to confront him before Monday.

He needed to be scary. Like, really scary. _Burt_ scary.

It was the only thing he could think of. He knew his mom wouldn't like it, she hated violence. (When she found out about what Burt had done to Karofsky just before the wedding she had been pissed. So, okay, maybe they had had one argument. Finn had forgotten that one. He thinks maybe they all have. It was kind of scary. But hey, he couldn’t blame her. Beating up a seventeen year old, even if said seventeen year old looked like he was on steroids, was a pretty dumb move on Burt's part.)

He could also get kicked out of school if anyone found out, and that was the last thing they needed right now. But it was worth the risk. He needs to protect his sort-of brother. He didn't want Blaine to end up like Kelly Oswald.

He pushed his way into the locker room and just let his body take over; his brain could catch up later. Before either of them knew what was happening Finn had Karofsky pinned face first against the locker.

Karofsky shouted and tried to struggle, but Finn had one of his arms twisted behind his back and he pulled until he heard joints start to pop. Karofsky stilled immediately, but he didn't stop shouting.

“Get off me, Hudson, or I swear I'll-”

“Shut up!” Finn growled, yanking on Karofsky's arm again until the other boy grunted in pain. Finn felt kind of guilty about that. He hadn't meant to hurt him, just scare him. But he quickly brushed it off. The way he figured, it was just payback for all the bruises Kurt had come home with all those times.

“My brother and his friend are coming back to school on Monday and I'm only going to tell you this once,” Finn hissed into Karofsky's ear, leaning over his shoulder menacingly and using his height to his advantage. “Stay away from them, Karofsky. If you go near them, either of them, I swear I will fucking end you. Do you understand?”

When Karofsky didn't say anything Finn shoved him hard, felt the rush of air out of his lungs, then, “Yeah! Okay? Yes, just get off me!”

Karofsky sounded slightly panicked and Finn figured that was a good thing. But when he stepped back and released the other boy's arm so that Karofsky could turn around and face him, all he could see was the fear in his eyes.

 _I wonder if that's what Kurt looked like_ , Finn's brain whispered at him as he stood there dumbly, taking in Karofsky's wide eyes, the way he rubbed at his wrist where Finn had been holding him. _I wonder if that's what Blaine looked like._

Finn turned and ran, not looking back at Karofsky as he bolted out the door.


	2. Denial: Part One

_Blaine is sitting in the front row of a movie theater, the old cloth and spring seat stiff and squeaking underneath him. Professor Grant is standing in front of him, dressed in an old fashioned prison warden's uniform, a pointing stick in one hand. He wraps it sharply against the screen, which had changed into a giant chalkboard._

_'Pay attention, Blaine,' he snaps. 'Can you translate the words on the screen?'_

_Blaine looks up at the bright, white, three-foot high letters that scrawl themselves across the green surface of the board, but the more he concentrated the more the words morph, until they were just a messy scribble, being scratched over and over again by the scrape of the chalk._

_'You have ten seconds to answer, or he'll never come out.'_

_Blaine is just about to ask what the professor means when a curtain is pulled back to reveal a magician's water tank. Inside Kurt is struggling in the water, wrapped up tightly in a strait jacket. His eyes are panicked as he pulls at the restraints and big air bubbles keep escaping from his mouth as he screams._

_'If he dies there will be no one left to love you,' says a voice next to his ear. He turns to look and suddenly he is in his father's Porsche, watching from the passenger seat as his father drives too quickly down a road that keeps twisting and turning unexpectedly. Blaine holds on tightly to the seat as the car veers and threatens to topple around each sharp turn. Bright, neon stage lights keep flashing all around them._

_'I tried, but the words kept changing,' he tries to explain._

_'You never did know how to take responsibility.' His father turns to look at him and his eyes are nothing but empty sockets. Suddenly, he jerks the wheel of the car, turning it sideways so that Blaine is looking at the bright yellow glare of headlights bearing down on him._

*

“Kurt, Blaine, wake up.”

Blaine’s eyes popped open, and for a moment he was staring at a mop of tousled brown hair. There was a warm weight around his waist and his knees were pressed up against Kurt's.

Then Kurt was sitting up like a shot, jostling Blaine and turning to his father who was standing at the top of the stairs. “Dad! This isn't...I mean...It's not what you think!”

Burt's eyebrows rose and Blaine hid a smile in the pillow. His head felt thick with the remnants of his dream. “You think I was born yesterday? I know that. Now get up, your alarm went off half an hour ago. School starts in forty-five minutes and I _know_ you need more time than that to get ready.”

Kurt's eyes went wide and his head whipped around to the clock by the bed. He hissed under his breath and scrambled over Blaine to get out of the bed, apparently no longer mortified that Burt had caught them together.

Blaine looked sheepishly up at Burt while Kurt disappeared into the bathroom, offering him a small smile. “Good morning, Mr. Hummel.”

“Good morning, Blaine,” Burt said with another amused raise of his eyebrows. “If you hurry, Carole made breakfast before she left for work. I _think_ Finn was planning on saving some for the two of you.”

Blaine nodded and Burt retreated up the stairs just as Kurt barged out of the bathroom with a scowl on his face.

“Great! My first day back and I'm going to look disgusting.” He flung open the doors to the oversized walk-in closet and as he began rummaging through the hat rack Blaine finally slid out of the bed and over to the boxes that still contained his clothes from home.

 _No_. This _is my home now_ , he thought as he started sorting through the mess the boxes had become over the last few days, piling clothes on top of the unused bed that had been purchased the day after his father's lawyer had come by with the guardianship papers.

Kurt had promised to clear out space for him in the closet, but the last few days had been so hectic - getting registered at McKinley, deciding which classes they needed and which ones had room, and figuring out what they would need to do to catch up (not much because the curriculum at Dalton had been leagues ahead of the public school system) - there hadn't been time to give the process of choosing which clothes had to go the careful thought Blaine knew it would require.

But that was okay with Blaine. It was stupid, but he knew that as soon as his clothes were hanging beside Kurt's, as soon as it became 'their room' and not just where he was sleeping, then it would all become real.

The fact that his father had disowned him and his mother hadn't even fought for him. The fact that he had to leave his friends, his school, the one place that had really felt like a home.

He knew it was real. His first day at McKinley was starting in half an hour, he _knew_. But as long as his things were still packed away in those boxes he could at least pretend. 

“I can't believe my dad knew this whole time that we've been sleeping in the same bed,” Kurt said, knocking Blaine out of his miserable contemplations.

He turned to face the other boy, his hands full of wrinkled clothes, and found Kurt impeccably dressed already in black skinny jeans, a white t-shirt with an abstract red design on the front and his favorite pair of knee-high Docs. He pulled on a tight-fitting black jacket, and topped it all off with one of his favorite black caps and a red leather belt that hung loosely off one hip.

He looked fantastic.

The first time Blaine had put on his Dalton uniform he had loved it immediately. It meant he was a part of something, that he was accepted, he was one of them. He had come to hate that same uniform the day Kurt put it on for the same reasons. Despite all his talk of fitting in he had hated seeing Kurt look so...similar.

He had wanted to rip that uniform off of him and replace it with a knee-length sweater, a kilt or some questionable bondage gear. He didn't want Kurt to conform.

 _I guess I got my wish_ , he thought, finally tearing his eyes away from Kurt and back to the clothes in his hands. “He checks on us three times a night, Kurt. You didn't know that?”

Kurt glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then turned to the full length mirror on the closet door. “No,” he said, adjusting his hat to a perfectly rakish angle. “I figured he would have flipped if he knew. I mean, when you were here for Christmas break he wouldn't even let you sleep down here. You had to sleep on the couch _upstairs_.”

Blaine sighed and finally grabbed a pair of jeans and the first long-sleeved t-shirt he could find. He usually dressed less Abercrombie and Fitch and more 'dapper gentleman', as David would put it, but for his first day he figured he should make himself somewhat less of a glaring target than that.

It was just one more thing he had to change. “Yes, well. I doubt he's worried about what we'll do if left alone behind closed doors anymore.”

A brief look of sadness flitted across Kurt's face before he could hide it, and Blaine felt guilty for bringing 'it' up. Sometimes it was like Kurt forgot; like he forgot that Blaine wasn't here for an extended sleepover. He forgot that Blaine’s father had disowned him and that he only had a home at all because of the kindness of Kurt's parents. That all of that had happened because...well.

Blaine hated reminding him. He hated that broken look that darkened Kurt's face every time it was brought up. He didn't want this thing to affect anyone else. It was his issue to deal with, no one else should have to worry about it.

“Well, he shouldn't have worried about it in the first place,” Kurt huffed as he bent to lace his boots. “We're friends. Nothing more. He knows that.”

“Yeah,” Blaine agreed as he slipped into the bathroom to change. “Friends.”

 _Just friends_ , Blaine thought as he stripped off his sleep clothes and tossed them into the hamper.

That title had been put firmly in place when the angel in knee high combat boots that Blaine had drug down the hallway and valiantly tried to seduce through song turned into a scared and lonely boy that needed someone to understand him. So...friends. Nothing more.

But...he had always hoped, dreamed, that someday when they were both ready...but it was too late for that now.

He pressed his fingers into the places where the bruises had finally faded from his hips and tried to stop thinking about lost things.

*****

Kurt looked up from his vanity mirror when Blaine wandered out of the bathroom ten minutes later with his hair slicked back in its usual gelled stranglehold and dressed like...well, like everyone else at McKinley. Kurt supposed it was just an attempt at taking his own advice and trying to fit it, but he had to admit that it was disappointing. Kurt would take hipster over Lima-chic any day.

At least he wasn't wearing flannel. That would have been a tragedy. Kurt thought back to his own week long escapade into the world of lumberjack couture and shuddered. If Blaine ever dressed in anything resembling plaid Kurt would stage an intervention.

For now he wouldn't begrudge him the need to make his life a little easier; but if he was truly committed to the cause the helmet hair had to go.

“This is McKinley, Blaine, not Dalton,” he joked, reaching towards the other boy's tamed curls. “The six ounces of gel aren't necessary. Or even suitable, really. You're just begging for a slushie to the head.”

Before he could ruffle the still wet hair into a less severe shape Blaine skirted passed his touch, glaring as he made his way towards the stairs. “I like it this way,” he said, turning his back on Kurt as he made his way upstairs.

Kurt tried not to feel hurt as he followed him up, he had only been joking after all, but the stiffness of Blaine’s back in front of him and the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides told Kurt that no amount of brevity was going to help him today.

*

“If you see it coming make sure you close your eyes, the corn syrup will sting for hours. Always keep a spare set of clothes in your locker. I've got one for both of us in the car too, just in case. This _is_ our first day here, they may get a little over zealous. And _always_ know the fastest route to the nearest bathroom. If you let it sit it will stain. Especially the blue. And if you go to class stained blue Sam will speak in Na'vi the rest of the day. It's...weird.

“Also, try to keep a good number of other students between you and the lockers if you can. There are times when it's unavoidable, like when you have to use your own locker, but if there's a barrier between you and the wall the jocks usually don't bother because there's no point.” 

Blaine’s eyes widened more and more as Kurt spoke, until he looked like a man facing down a sudden zombie apocalypse and not public high school. The school loomed, large and square and imposing in front of them, like a prison, or a slaughterhouse, all hard edges and swarming hive of teenagers.

Kurt felt bad about frightening him, this shouldn't be this hard, it was just a school. But the reality was that it _was_ frightening. Terrifying even, and Kurt was just trying to do the best he could to prepare him.

He caught Blaine’s eyes, holding his gaze for just a moment before reaching out and taking him by the hand. It wouldn't help their image with the other students. Two boys holding hands at McKinley? It was definitely a first. But he felt Blaine relax, felt his hand squeeze tight around Kurt's own, and he knew wouldn't let go for the world.

They were just about to start heading for the doors, ignoring the students around them that were pushing passed, some staring openly at the two of them, when Kurt suddenly felt a tall, lumbering presence at his side.

“Hey, Kurt. Hey, Blaine. Look who I found. They wanted to welcome you to your first day.”

Finn's huge grin beside him was goofy and overly sincere. Kurt looked around at the sudden press of bodies, seeing Puck and Sam and Mike. Artie was at the top of the stairs already, waiting patiently after taking the ramp for them to follow him inside. 

Kurt tried to hide his smile as they made their way through the crush of students towards their homeroom, his hand still wrapped tightly in Blaine’s, surrounded now by their own personal secret service, just like Puck had promised all those months ago.

*

It took Blaine longer than Kurt thought it would to catch on. They had just been deposited into their third class of the day, Spanish with Mr. Schue, by Mike (who was undoubtedly sprinting to the other side of the school to get to his Calculus class on time) when Blaine turned to Kurt, a suspicious look on his face.

“Are they _escorting_ us to our classes?”

Kurt smiled into his new Spanish book, thumbing forward to the pages they would have covered if they had been in class last week. “Yes,” he said just as Mr. Schue walked into the classroom and started writing something on the whiteboard. He looked over his shoulder at Kurt and Blaine and gave them a soft smile. Kurt smiled back, honestly glad to see him again, before turning his full attention on Blaine.

“They think if they can keep us from being alone then we won't be harassed.”

“How long do you think that will keep up?” Blaine whispered. He glanced down at his own book and grimaced at the completely unfamiliar words in front of him.

Neither of them had ever taken Spanish before. They were, in fact, in a class made up mostly of sophomores. Special compensation had been made for their situation. Kurt wasn't sure exactly how much his father had told Figgins, but they had been allowed to take all but one of their classes together, despite current student capacity.

The only one they didn't have together was Blaine’s AP math class. Kurt was lucky to scrape by with a B in the regular classes, so he took a creative writing English course at that time instead.

“I don't know. Puck will get bored soon enough and tell us to suck it up, I'm sure. Even though the whole thing was his idea in the first place. We'll see if it even works.”

At that time Mr. Schue turned around to quiet the class and they were too busy just trying to understand the words being spoken at them to worry about anything else.

When class was finally over, Mr. Schue giving them sympathetic looks as they made their way slowly out the door to wait for their escort - Finn, Kurt thinks, he had social studies just down the hall and they shared a lunch break - Blaine turned to him and gave him a sad, tortured look.

“You should be taking French,” he said. He glared balefully at his Spanish book as he stuffed it into his bag. The last fifty minutes of their lives had not been pretty, hence the sympathy from Mr. Schue.

Kurt shook his head quickly, scanning the crowd for Finn. It should be easy to spot him, he was the tallest person in the school. “I don't want to take French. I want to take Spanish with you.”

Blaine sighed, glancing nervously at the students that kept pushing passed them to get to the cafeteria. “You love French, Kurt. You _dream_ in French. You shouldn't be stuck trying to mumble your way through 'can you help me find the bathroom' in Spanish just because...”

“Because some sick bastard did something horrible to you and thus ruined the language for me, possibly forever, in a way that is wholly and completely _not_ your fault?”

Kurt looked over at Blaine and wanted desperately to do something that would take away the heartbroken expression on his face. “Blaine,” he said gently, reaching out for the other boy's hand again, their fingers linking together automatically now. “I'm where I want to be. Here, with you. That's all that matters to me. The rest of it, which school we go to, what classes we take, in the grand scheme of things is meaningless. Okay?”

When Blaine finally nodded, though somewhat reluctantly, Kurt pulled him by the hand toward the cafeteria. The whole 'escort' thing didn't last nearly as long as he thought it would.

“Besides,” Kurt said as they wormed their way through the student body, hands still clutched tightly together. “I'm good with languages. I'll pick it up quickly, and then I'll get to put trilingual on my college applications. How many people can do that at seventeen?”

Before Blaine could reply a mocking voice rang out above the din of passing students, making Kurt's stomach lurch. “Hey look, boys. It's Mr. and Mrs. Fancy.”

Kurt looked up at Azimio who was standing by the cafeteria doors, surrounded by a sea of Letterman's jackets. Kurt didn't have time to think of what they should do next when Azimio turned Dave Karofsky around to face them, one arm slinging around his friend's shoulder, brother's-at-arms.

“What do you say, David? Should we give these two a proper welcome back? I do believe there's a slushie machine inside that's lookin' to be put to good use.”

Karofsky looked up at them from across the hall and Kurt felt his heart jump into his throat. In the last four months he had almost forgotten just how _large_ the bully was. Blaine’s hand squeezed painfully around his, and Kurt was trying to decide on fight or flight when the hulking football player said something that couldn't have surprised Kurt more if he had done it in song.

“Leave it alone.”

Azimio and several of the other jocks turned astonished eyes toward Karofsky and Kurt knew that he was also doing a fairly decent impression of a startled goldfish whose bowl had just been violently prodded.

“You going soft on me, David?” Azimio asked, his voice bordering on menacing. The loyalty of such men only ran so deep. “Maybe that week we spent with the losers in 'gay club' affected your brain.”

A look of nervousness crossed Karofsky's face as he glanced around at the wall of people surrounding him. But it was gone quickly and he turned a mocking glare across the hall to Kurt and Blaine, his back stiffening and his shoulders squaring as he did. 

_He's posturing_ , Kurt was surprised to realize. _He's just as scared of them as we are_.

“They're not worth it,” Karofsky sneered, his tone utterly condescending and dismissive, before turning around and stalking off into the cafeteria.

Kurt was just giving Blaine a confused look when Finn suddenly came running down the hallway, pushing passed a group of startled freshmen to get to where they stood. “Hey, sorry,” he said, just slightly out of breath. “I got held up by Mrs. Carmichael. Are you guys alright?”

He glanced into the cafeteria where the jocks had just disappeared, his gaze catching on Karofsky's broad back. “Did he try something?” he demanded urgently. “Because if he did-”

“Finn, no.” Kurt grabbed Finn's arm before he could go into a rampage. “It's fine. He didn't...he didn't do anything. It's fine.”

Kurt held on tightly to his brother and tried to give him a reassuring look as Finn glanced between him and Blaine, who still stood a little wide-eyed with shock over the whole ordeal. Finally Finn nodded and relaxed.

“Alright. Just don't...don't wander off like that, okay? It's not...safe.”

Kurt sighed, wanting to protest, but he knew Finn was just trying to help. If he was quite honest with himself he knew that, were the jocks really to get them cornered, there was nothing they could do. Blaine squeezed his hand lightly and Kurt glanced over at him to see a soft, knowing smile curling at his mouth.

Blaine appreciated the gesture for what it was - Finn's way of trying to help, to make things easier on them. Kurt smiled back; he figured he could put up with a little patronizing if it meant keeping Blaine safe.

By that time lunch period was almost half over anyway, so when Mike, Tina, and Mercedes joined them in the hallway Kurt let it go and followed them inside, dragging Blaine along with them. 

For the next half hour, instead of worrying about the jocks or the fact that Finn and the other New Directions boys were treating them like helpless baby bunnies, Kurt turned all his concentration into cajoling Blaine into eating some of the truly horrendous cafeteria fair. One step at a time, right?


	3. Denial - Part Two

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Kurt asked, his hand gripping Blaine’s just a little too tightly, staring into the quickly filling classroom in front of him.

“Yes. No. Probably not.”

Blaine offered Kurt a shaky smile and carefully extricated his hand. It was their last class of the day and it was the only one they took apart. It would also be the first time they had been away from each other since Kurt came to be with him at the hospital.

Two weeks of having Kurt by his side, a barrier between him and the rest of the world, and now he had to walk into that classroom alone. His heart was pounding in his chest so hard he was sure Kurt could hear it, and he was glad he hadn't eaten anything at lunch because it meant there was nothing for him to throw up.

But he had to do this. He couldn't hold Kurt’s hand forever. _Don't be a coward, Blaine_ , a voice whispered in his head. It sounded a lot like his father.

“Don't forget glee club after,” Kurt said as Blaine turned away from him. Blaine nodded and took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders and offering Kurt another paltry smile. Then he forced himself to walk into the classroom, leaving Kurt and their escort, Sam and Finn, outside.

He quickly took the last seat at the back of the room and set his book bag down on the desk, hugging it close to his chest. The other students all gave him cursory looks, but they didn't seem to care much about his sudden presence and he was glad for it. When the teacher came in everyone fell silent and Blaine concentrated on just breathing.

For nearly the entire class period Blaine stared resolutely at the whiteboard, but he didn't take in a word the teacher was saying. The problems on the board were familiar, Dalton had covered these things weeks ago, but he felt like he was back in Spanish class, for as much as the conversation around him was getting through.

His ears were roaring so loudly that he almost missed it when the teacher called his name. “Mr. Anderson,” she said sharply, and it was clear she had already tried to get his attention before.

Blaine looked up at her, wanted to apologize but the words got stuck in his throat.

“Can you please go to the board and finish the problem?”

“I...” All eyes turned to him and he floundered. “N-no. I...”

The teacher sighed and shook her head. “I'll give you a little leeway because you're new, but I expect you to catch up quickly, Mr. Anderson. I don't accept slackers in my class. This is advanced placement for a reason.”

“Y-yes, ma'am. Sorry.”

He wanted to tell her that he knew how to solve the equation; that it wasn't being behind that was the problem and that he certainly wasn't a slacker. But he couldn't explain to her that his hands were shaking so hard he wouldn't be able to hold the marker, or that he was afraid if he stood up and tried to walk to the front of the class where he could be seen, judged, by everyone that his legs would give out.

He couldn't explain that the only thing he could think of right now was not running out of the room and finding Kurt, or maybe just running altogether; running and running until he couldn't anymore and then maybe he would be far enough away and everything wouldn't hurt so much.

He didn't know how to tell her all that so he just kept quiet.

He tried instead to think about that morning, as they were leaving the house for the first time since he had officially moved in. Kurt had run downstairs to make a last minute adjustment to his outfit, he wanted everything to be perfect for his first day back, and Finn was already waiting in the Navigator, texting furiously (he must have been warning the other glee guys that they were on their way, that they needed to be ready to play bodyguard).

Blaine had been standing at the threshold of the front door, staring anxiously out at the street. It was a quiet neighborhood, calm and peaceful; the picturesque image of small town life. He could see why a young couple, madly in love and expecting their first child, would move in here. The thought of Kurt’s happy family as they must have been when Kurt was first born caused a lump in his throat and his eyes to water.

“You'll be fine,” Burt had said, suddenly appearing at Blaine’s side and interrupting his thoughts. Blaine had turned to him, tried to blink away the tears in his eyes. He was tired of crying.

Burt had just smiled and placed one large hand on the back of Blaine’s neck, squeezing gently, his thumb brushing the skin just above Blaine’s jacket. He thought he should hate it, that touch. The feel of a male authority figure's hands on him should repulse him, but all he wanted to do was lean into Burt's side where it was warm and safe.

A small part of Blaine knew that Burt was probably aware of that need, of that desire for touch and comfort that Blaine could accept from so few people right now, and that was why he did it. The small touches, the strong, careful hugs, even the soft words of comfort that he spoke at night when Blaine’s nightmares were too much for Kurt to handle on his own, were all Burt’s way of trying to fill that gaping hole in Blaine’s heart that his own father had left little more than a week ago.

“You'll be fine,” Burt had said again, nodding resolutely as if his word alone would make it so. “Because you're stronger than him, Blaine. Even if you don't think you are right now.”

Blaine wasn't sure which 'him' Burt had been referring to, but as Kurt had bound back up the stairs (whatever change he had made Blaine certainly couldn't see, but judging by the huge smile on Kurt’s face it had been exactly what he needed) Burt had simply given Blaine one last smile, his hand patting him solidly on the back before he wandered back into the kitchen and Kurt had dragged Blaine out to the car.

Now Blaine was here, the loneliness and enormity of public high school bearing down on him like a steamroller, slow and painful, and he was trying his hardest to be strong like Burt thought he was. He stared at his math book and waited for the class to end.

When the bell rang he was the first one out the door. He tucked himself into a small alcove beside a row of lockers and waited, breath held, until Kurt jogged around the corner from the direction of his own class, Puck and Artie in tow.

When Kurt saw him he smiled, a soft, relieved sort of smile, and rushed to his side, taking his hand immediately. It was like a light had been switched back on. Blaine's heart stopped pounding, his shoulders relaxed, and it felt like he could breathe again for the first time since he had let go of Kurt’s hand an hour ago.

He wondered briefly if this was normal, this sudden need he had for Kurt to be beside him always. It couldn't be healthy; people weren't supposed to be this dependent on each other, were they?

“Are you ready?” Kurt asked.

Blaine pulled himself out of his thoughts and smiled back at Kurt, glancing at Puck and Artie as they all made their way down the hall through the sudden press of students trying to leave the school.

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing Kurt’s hand tightly. “Yeah, let’s go.”

*

Glee club started off as a raucous affair. The girls all gave Kurt over-exuberant hugs and the guys all slapped him on the back until he looked like he'd fall over even though they'd all seen him a dozen times that day. But this time felt different because they were all there, even Mr. Schue who was smiling at them all fondly, and Brad the piano player (“he's just always _there_ ,” Kurt had told Blaine one day, trying to explain his omnipresence) plunking out keys on the piano, patiently waiting for them to begin.

Kurt beamed happily, surrounded by his friends, and he had never looked so happy with the Warblers and their cold politeness. This is where he belonged all along and Blaine felt guilty for ever taking him away, even though he knew it wasn't his fault, just his suggestion.

Songs were broken into randomly, the jazz band (“I swear, it's like they just sit in the room in the dark, waiting for us“) trying their best to keep up with the different voices, the different harmonies, the different genres that all seemed to blend so perfectly together even though they shouldn't.

It's happy and joyous and _fun_ and Blaine sat to the side, watching it all in wide-eyed wonder. He had never really understood before how Kurt had managed so long in this place, when he himself had fled his own school so quickly. He knew it was mostly due to Kurt's inherent strength, that courage he had deep inside him - Blaine had never given him that, just pulled it to the surface where it could shine - but now he saw that this place, these people, were a big part of it too.

Blaine had never had a sanctuary like this, a place of peace where he was loved simply for being who he was, and a part of him envied Kurt for that.

 _But Kurt deserves this_ , Blaine thought as he watched Mr. Schue try ineffectually to get everyone's attention, himself bursting into rowdy laughter at the student’s antics. He _should_ have someplace where he's happy, carefree and without the burdens the world kept heaping on his shoulders. 

“Okay, okay!” Mr. Schue finally shouted above the din, and everyone rushed to find a seat, Kurt slumped over next to Mercedes, a smile cracking across his face like a pale pink glimmer of sunrise at the horizon. Had Blaine ever seen him smile like that before? So elated and alive, no hint of shyness or self-doubt dulling the edges.

 _When you sang to him_ , his brain reminded him, conjuring up an image of the senior commons, full to bursting with prep-school boys all dancing like malfunctioning robots and Kurt, the only thing in the room that mattered, sticking out so spectacularly and Blaine trying so hard to impress him. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

Blaine was knocked from his memory by Mr. Schue's words, a bright smile on his face as he waved in Blaine’s direction. “Do you have a song ready?”

Blaine blinked at him owlishly, glanced over at Kurt who was smiling encouragingly, and he tried not to quell under the sudden scrutiny of the entire choir room. “I-I'm sorry?”

“Don't worry,” Mr. Schue said as if it answered all of Blaine’s questions. “Everybody gets in, but you still have to audition.”

Blaine felt himself blanch, all the blood rushing from his face, and he hated that he did that so easily now, buckled under pressure to the point where he just wanted to hide in Kurt's room, shivering under the blankets like he was five and his father had just admonished him for waking him up over something silly like a bad dream.

Two weeks ago he would have thought of a polite reply, executed it with the perfectly cultured manners his privileged life had awarded him, and thought nothing of it. Now he floundered, all that confidence shot and he couldn't even fake it, not yet, his brain was still too cracked.

“I...no. I didn't...that's not why...I'm just waiting for Kurt and Finn. They're...my ride.”

Everyone looked at him goggle-eyed; he supposed it was expected, that he'd join up with them now that's he'd transferred, just like Kurt had with the Warblers. And he hadn't really thought about it until right now, not really, when did he have the time? But he knew without a doubt that it just wasn't something he could do.

Maybe he's being selfish and it's because he didn't know how to sway in the background while someone else sang lead, or maybe because he had an irrational - and he knew it was irrational, it was flat out ridiculous really but he couldn't help it - fear that everyone who saw him _knew_. Like he had a scarlet letter, V for victim, pinned to his chest for everyone to read, and he couldn't imagine standing up in a crowd and showing them all. 

Or maybe it was something else entirely. Maybe if things had gone differently, if Dalton had been kinder, more willing to forgive past mistakes and believe him, then he would still be with the Warblers, still lead them in front of crowds of hundreds. Because it's something he knew, something familiar, and this...this was just one more thing that didn't make sense to him.

Whatever the reason, one of them or all three, or something he couldn't even fathom yet, he didn't know. What he did know was that he couldn't be a part of New Directions. This was Kurt's world, not his, and he didn't want to try to fit, a beetle in amongst the butterflies.

“But, Blaine...”

Blaine shook his head at Kurt's soft words, not meeting his eyes, not looking at anything really. He didn't want to see them judging him, trying to figure him out. He wrapped his arms around his waist, dug his fingers into cloth covered skin.

“Well, if he's not joining then he shouldn't be here.”

Blaine looked up to see Rachel eyeing him suspiciously and he couldn't blame her. Kurt had told him about last year, about Jesse St. James. He wanted to reassure her, promise them all that he wasn't a spy, that he wasn't there to ruin them, that he's only there at all because he was ruined first, but what came out was bitter and angry.

“Where am I going to take your secrets, Rachel? Back to Dalton?”

He hissed the word like it was poison he was trying to spit off his tongue and everyone but Kurt and Finn looked confused. Oh, that's right, they didn't know.

They didn't know why he was there, just that he left his expensive school where he was a rock star to come to a place where he needed an escort just to be safe. Of course they were confused. He stood, peeled his fingers away from his arms and grabbed his bag.

“I'll go.”

Kurt protested and Mr. Schue beckoned him back, Rachel looked guilty for accusing him now that he seemed so...did he look as broken as he felt? But it was Finn that reached out for him, grabbed his wrist as he passed, heading for the door.

“Wait,” he said, trying to stop him from going into the hall. They all knew what happened to boys like him that wandered McKinley alone.

Blaine flinched at his touch, yanked his hand away and tried not to feel guilty about the hurt look in Finn's eyes. He'd always seen it, that confusion and hurt, since the day Finn came back to the house to Burt's hurried, nondescript explanation and Blaine sitting at the dinner table. It hurt Finn that Blaine pulled away, that he couldn't stand his touch, his presence, unless Kurt or Burt were there as a barrier.

He wanted to say sorry, but he knew Finn would tell him not to and that was somehow worse, so he kept his mouth shut.

“You can stay, Blaine, it's alright,” Mr. Schue said kindly and all of New Directions nodded in agreement, even Rachel. _They can see it_ , he thought as he sat back down, pulling out his Spanish homework to do while they sang around him. They can see that wrongness about him, and it made them nice. Made them compliant and patronizing, don't spook the damaged boy, you don't know what he'll do.

His eyes swam with verbs and tenses and something else suspiciously wet and Kurt surreptitiously moved while they sang, until he was standing beside Blaine’s chair, one hand dangling down next to Blaine where he could reach up and take it if he wanted.

Blaine buried himself in his book and didn't take Kurt’s hand.

*****

“So.”

“So.”

Kurt smiled and brushed a wet curl of hair off of Blaine’s forehead. They were in Kurt’s bed, the one on the other side of the room still sitting untouched, facing each other as they had every night for two weeks.

Ever since Blaine’s first nightmare, the day they had encountered Grant on their ill-fated trip to Dalton, they had fallen asleep like this, an unspoken need to be near each other drawing them together.

It had started that first night, well, morning really. Five-thirty in the morning and Kurt had woken up on the couch, roused from his own fitful sleep by the sound of Blaine’s distress again. He had thought to get his father, to drag him back down the stairs once more and beg him to help, but Blaine’s soft whimpers weren't nearly as desperate, as broken, as they had been three hours before. Instead Kurt had decided to go on instinct, crawling carefully onto the bed beside Blaine and reaching out for him, a gentle touch to his outstretched hand.

That simple gesture had been enough and Blaine had quieted almost immediately, the anguish on his sleeping face smoothing out and his breath slowing to a gentle rhythm. So Kurt had stayed, holding Blaine’s hand tightly as they had both fallen back into sleep.

When he woke several hours later he had been wrapped around Blaine like a starfish, arms and legs intertwined, and for a minute he had felt guilty; this wasn't what Blaine needed, not now, not after what had happened to him.

But when he had tried to extract himself from Blaine, to give the other boy space, Blaine had simply shifted closer in his sleep, one hand holding tight to Kurt’s silk nightshirt and Kurt had given in easily, curling back up around him and dozing off once more.

Ever since it had just felt right, to stay so close, holding on to each other in the darkness. And now apparently Kurt didn't have to worry about his father finding them in seemingly compromising positions either.

Kurt hated it, just a little bit, that his father was no longer concerned about finding them in bed together, when less than a month ago he had been nothing but suspicious of them and what they did when he couldn't see them. Kurt almost wished he was still suspicious, that he was still watching them like a hawk, worried about something as simple as teenage hormones. It would mean that Blaine wasn't quite so broken.

“What did you think of your first day at the infamous William McKinley High?” Kurt asked after a few minutes had gone by in silence.

Blaine huffed out a stilted laugh, his breath tickling across Kurt’s face. “It wasn't as bad as I thought. At least we didn't get slushied.”

“Yeah,” Kurt agreed, his voice hushed in the dark of the room. “That was...weird.”

“Maybe our secret service worked,” Blaine suggested. He sighed and wiggled a little closer to Kurt. It was late; they had stayed up for hours working on the things they would need to catch up on for their classes.

“Maybe,” Kurt said hesitantly, not entirely convinced that the presence of the glee club was really enough to hold off the jocks, at least not for long.

As Blaine’s eyes closed and his breathing slowed he whispered, “It'll be all right.”

Kurt didn't think he was the one that was supposed to be getting comforted right now, but he would take it.


	4. Bargaining - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a flashback scene in this chapter. Please be cautious of any triggers.

Things were going too well, that was the problem. If Finn had learned anything in life it was that when things went this well it wasn't long before they started going very badly.

It had been three weeks since Kurt and Blaine had transferred to McKinley and everything had been going better than they all could have hoped. They had caught up in most of their classes (they had started talking in Spanish at the dinner table in order to learn faster, which just confused Finn even though he had been taking Spanish for two years) and they were getting along really well with everyone at school.

Despite other tensions in the glee club (and Finn knew full well that a lot of that was his fault) they still all continued to play bodyguard for Kurt and Blaine, making sure that they were never left alone. And maybe it was them or maybe the jocks were just worried about getting expelled if there were witnesses, but no one had thrown a slushie at anyone in weeks and Kurt didn't come home with bruises like he had before.

But all that kind of made Finn feel guilty. He wondered if they had tried harder, noticed sooner what was going on, then maybe they could have stopped it and Kurt never would have had to leave at all. But then he wondered what would have happened to Blaine, if Kurt hadn't transferred. If he would have called Kurt that day or if they wouldn't have been close enough, good enough friends for Blaine to trust him like that, if Kurt had never gone to Dalton.

Finn thought that maybe it turned out for the best, Kurt having to leave like he did.

But things were better now, at least so far, and Blaine seemed...maybe not happy, but he wasn't as sad as he was when he first came to their house, wasn't as scared all the time of what was going to happen to him next.

So yeah, Finn figured that maybe things were going _too_ well and that's why everything went wrong.

“Dude, you're seriously good for a little guy,” Puck said jokingly as they all made their way toward the showers. It was raining that day, so they had stayed inside for PE and they had been allowed to choose their own activities.

Kurt and Quinn had started an impromptu cheer lesson for the girls in the class, with Santana and Brittany helping out. Even though none of them were cheerleaders any more Kurt said it was still the best way of working out that he knew of, and anyone that didn't think cheering was a real sport had obviously never tried it before.

As for the rest of the guys in the class, they had decided to play basketball and Blaine had ended up on a team with the rest of the glee club guys (they may not be getting slushied, but that didn't mean they were liked any better).

Finn had expected Blaine to be bad at it, he came from a prep-school and he was short, he sort of didn't have much going for him, but he had been amazingly good. He was fast, Blaine had explained with a grin when everyone had been staring at him in shock after he had gotten passed all the jocks on the other team and made the first basket.

The game had been long, and Finn had spent most of it trying to make sure that none of the jocks tried to take Blaine out of the equation (fast or not he was still small), but they had ended up winning in the end. And now they were all heading for the showers to get ready for sixth period.

 _Puck_ , Finn thought as he stripped off his shirt. _And Sam_. They would be Kurt and Blaine’s escort next because they both had shop class down that same hallway. It was a running litany in his head these days, whenever the bell rang signaling the end of class, who would be watching out for them.

“Dude, you should try out for the team next year,” Puck said, still a little bit in awe of Blaine’s skills. Blaine shook his head and grabbed the towel out of his locker. He held it tightly in front of himself like a shield.

Finn knew that showering with everyone made him nervous, and seriously, he couldn't blame him. Finn had suggested that Blaine and Kurt could just wait until everyone was gone, because Kurt usually waited anyway. (He said it was because he couldn't stand the smell of the shower room when it was full of sweaty teenagers, but Finn knew he was lying, knew he was just afraid of being accused of _looking_.) Kurt had shot down his idea though. He said it would look suspicious, the two of them staying behind all alone. Finn guessed he was probably right. No one else knew the truth, after all.

The few times they had worked up a sweat in PE over the last few weeks Blaine usually waited until Artie was finished, leaving the handicap stall at the back free. It was the biggest and it had an actual curtain for privacy.

(Finn wondered why they didn't all have curtains, but he figured it was because guys weren't supposed to have body image issues. Kurt said the stalls in the girl’s locker room had them. He was the only boy that was allowed in there. Okay, he wasn't really _allowed_ , but nobody said anything because, really.)

“Or you could try for the football team. You'd make a great running-back.”

“Hey!” Puck shouted, hitting Mike on the arm. “Nobody's stealing my spot, not even scary-fast little elf people.”

Finn bristled, was about to tell Puck not to talk about Blaine that way, but Blaine laughed and grabbed his clean clothes and his shampoo out of the locker (he always changed in the shower stall). “No thanks,” he said, his eyes darting around the room in search of Kurt, like he always did when they weren't right next to each other. “I'll leave the football team to Kurt.”

Kurt emerged from one of the toilet stalls, dressed in his fluffy white robe his bag of shower products (and really, how could one guy use so many of them) in one hand. “Uhg. Like I'd ever go back. Those uniforms are disgusting.” He smiled at Blaine and the two of them shared one of those secrets looks that they had, the ones that Finn could never understand.

“Besides,” Artie said, wheeling around the corner from the showers. “From one little guy to another...not a good idea. _One_ time you're not fast enough and they'd crush you like a bug.”

Blaine smiled, that strained sort of smile he had these days that made it look like his face hurt. “I played sports at Dalton, but I only played lacrosse and soccer. You guys don't have those here.”

“Dude! I miss Lacrosse!” Sam said, sticking his head out from the other side of the lockers, his hair all in disarray.

“You played?”

“Yeah! At my old school, dude. I went to Saint John's School for boys in Michigan before my family moved out here. I almost went to Dalton, you know, because of their lacrosse team. The coach was supposed to be great, I guess they had gone to state, like, three years in a row. But I ended up coming here instead.”

Blaine’s smile fell and he turned toward the shower room. “It was probably a good idea.”

Sam must have sensed that something was wrong because he smiled extra bright, to make up for Blaine’s bleak look maybe, and clapped Blaine on the shoulder as he walked by. “We should totally try and convince Figgins to let us start a lacrosse team.”

“And take money away from the football team and the Cheerios? We'd be better off trying to get him to change the mascot to a giant teddy bear wearing a tutu.”

Sam laughed, and that's when everything went wrong. Sam's hand on Blaine’s shoulder shoved him playfully, but he pushed too hard, Blaine really was very small, and Blaine stumbled toward one of the shower stalls, bumping into the tiled divider.

Puck laughed and Sam looked sheepish, and for one second no one but Finn noticed the wide-eyed look on Blaine’s face. A look that was full of terror, that clearly said there was something wrong. Wrong with a capital 'W'.

But when he didn't move, still half leaning over the divider as if the accidental shove had paralyzed him, all eyes turned toward him and that's when everyone else noticed that something wasn't right. Blaine was staring blankly at the ground, as if he could see something there that they couldn't and his chest had suddenly started heaving in deep, hitching breaths; his hands clutched at the dirty tile like a lifeline.

“Dude, are you...”

Before Finn could move to intervene Sam reached out for Blaine, touching his shoulder carefully. Blaine gasped and jerked away from him, his eyes still wide and unfocused.

“Don't.”

Finn wasn't sure if Blaine had said that, or if it was Kurt, pushing past Sam to get to Blaine. Everyone was staring now, confusion written on all their faces and Finn knew that was just making it worse, that whatever was happening, the last thing Blaine needed was witnesses.

Kurt reached out towards Blaine and grabbed his hand, but Blaine must have been too far gone to realize who it was because he yanked his hand away, shouting, “Don't touch me!”

Then with a pained moan he rushed from the shower room and pushed his way into the toilet stall that Kurt had just come out of, slamming the door behind him as the bathroom filled with the sound of retching.

Everyone stood stunned, especially Sam, unsure of what to do next.

“I-I didn't mean...Finn, I'm sorry, I-”

Finn cut off Sam's stuttered apology with a wave of his hand. “It's fine. Just...leave. Everyone leave.”

As Kurt moved to stand outside the stall that Blaine had locked himself into Finn ushered everyone - showered or not, they could just smell for the rest of the day - out of the locker room.

When the room was finally empty and it became clear that Blaine wasn't coming out any time soon, muffled sobs echoing through the empty locker room from inside the locked stall, Kurt slid down to the floor, still in his bathrobe, and leaned up against the door. His head tipped back against the red metal and his hand slid out across the tile as if he could somehow wish himself closer to Blaine.

Finn just sat down on one of the benches across from Kurt and they waited.

*****

_Hands wrapped around his wrists, pulling him, forcing him to move, gripping tight, adding new bruises. It hurts. Everything hurts and he doesn't want to get up, doesn't want to move, just wants to lay down and stop. Stop moving, stop breathing. Please stop._

_'Get up, Blaine.'_

_Angry. He's angry. He's gripping tighter, pulling Blaine up, off the bed. Blaine stumbles, his feet won't move. His head feels thick and his body hurts. Please stop._

_'Go.'_

_He stumbles again, away from the bed. There's a door. His body is shaking and he feels something wet running down his legs. He just wants to go to sleep. Just leave me alone._

_The door opens and he is pushed into the bathroom, stumbles again, why won't his feet work, everything is spinning._

_The water comes on and he's being pulled again, yanked into the shower and it's cold. He gasps. Tries to get away, but he's pushed under the spray and it feels like ice._

_He cries out, gets slapped for it. His head is forced under the water and it's no longer cold, has changed to hot, burning. It hurts. But everything hurts already. The water at his feet is pink._

_There are hands on his body, scrubbing and touching, going where they're not supposed to. A voice in his ear, saying all those things he's been hearing for hours now. He wants the voice to go away. Wants the hands off him. He doesn't want to hear these things. They make him want to be sick._

_Please stop._

*****

“Blaine, please talk to me.” The bell signaling the start of sixth period had rung ten minutes ago and Kurt was certain that one of the faculty was bound to come in any moment looking for them.

He had changed out of his bathrobe but hadn't bothered to shower, which was quite literally a first for him. He hadn't even left his place in front of the toilet stall to change, making Finn retrieve his clothes and then turn his back while he changed so that he could stay right here, as close to the boy still barricaded in the stall as he could get.

He just wanted to help. He didn't like being shut out like this. 

“Blaine...”

The door suddenly opened, the soft click of the lock sliding back echoing in the bathroom. Blaine stood on the other side of the door, pale and exhausted. There were smudged tear tracks drying on his cheeks and his hands were wrapped tightly around his forearms. Angry red lines had blossomed across his skin and where his fingers were there were crimson crescents of blood.

“Blaine?”

“He made me take a shower.”

Kurt blinked, glanced back at Finn who looked just as confused as he felt.

“Grant. When he was finished with me. He made me take a shower,” Blaine clarified, his eyes downcast to the floor, not looking at either of them. “I guess I had dried off by the time I woke up, because I didn't realize. Detective Choi was right. It didn't matter what I did, there wouldn't have been any evidence anyway.”

Kurt cast another nervous glance back at Finn. He knew what Blaine was talking about, and it made him sick like it always did, thinking about what Blaine had gone through, what he still went through every day, but Finn wasn't supposed to know. Blaine hadn't wanted him to, hadn't wanted _anyone_ to know. Kurt sometimes wonders, if he had answered the phone that day instead of his father, if Blaine would have told him at all, if he would have noticed what was wrong like his dad did and made him get help. He doesn't like thinking about that either.

“He knows,” Blaine said with a pained smile, the only kind he had these days.

“How...?”

Finn shrugged, blushing and looking away from Kurt’s face. “Kelly Oswald.”

Right. The bruises; that hollow look in the eyes. It was just the same.

“Is that why you...” Kurt waved his hands around, trying to indicate, well, everything. Everything Finn had been doing, everything he had asked the glee club to do for them, for Blaine. Finn just shrugged again, still not looking at either of them.

“Kurt, I want to go home.”

Kurt turned back to Blaine, his heart in his throat like it always seemed to be these days. He hated how young Blaine sounded, how small he looked huddled against the door of the toilet stall. He reached out for him, wanting to take Blaine's hand, to pull him into a hug and never let go, but he pulled back before he touched him. He didn't know if he was allowed to touch right now.

Blaine’s mouth twisted up, pained and broken, and he reached out for the hand Kurt had pulled away. Kurt met him halfway, linking their fingers together and pulling Blaine gently out of the stall. “Yeah, okay,” he said softly. “We can go. Finn?”

Finn shook his head and stood up from the bench he had been sitting on for the last half hour. “I'm coming with you. You know the guys'll ask questions and I don't...I wouldn't know what to say.”

They gathered their things and slipped out into the gymnasium, careful not to make a sound as they passed by the closed door of Coach Beiste's office, then it was just a quick journey out the back door and into the overflow parking lot where they had parked that morning. Kurt passed the dumpsters with his usual shudder and they all slid into his Navigator, shutting the doors quietly, and took off for home.

Once they got there they all dropped their book bags by the door, then stood around uncomfortably, not sure what to do next. Kurt had never skipped school before, and he could just about bet that Blaine hadn't either. Finn just fidgeted like he always did.

Suddenly Blaine sighed and rolled his eyes, running a hand through his disheveled and gel crusted hair. “I'm gonna...go. Shower. Yeah. Unless you want to?” He turned to Kurt, the look on his face almost hopeful, like Kurt would let him delay the inevitable, but Kurt was pretty sure that wasn't what he needed right now. 

He shook his head and made a 'shooing' motion toward the stairs. “No, you go. I'm fine.”

“Are you sure, because I can-”

“No, go. Seriously. You smell disgusting. I on the other hand, as always, smell fabulous.”

Blaine narrowed his eyes and looked at Kurt skeptically. “Did you just say _fabulous_? Really, Kurt?”

“Go!”

Blaine snorted, actual amusement shining in his eyes, and then took off for the stairs. Kurt watched him go wearily, his shoulders slumping as he let out a deep sigh.

He wished he knew what he was doing, wished there could be some sort of handbook with instructions on how to deal with things like this. He wanted so desperately to get it right, to help Blaine get through to the other side, if there even _was_ another side. But every move he made he questioned if it was the right one. Should he have made Blaine take a shower, or should he have given him that reprieve that his eyes had been asking for? He didn't know.

It was like that cliché saying, one step forward two steps back. Today didn't even feel like a step backwards, it just felt like they were stepping in a hundred different directions at once. 

“You really want a shower right now, don't you?” Finn asked from behind him, after they had stood in silence for a while. He was smiling knowingly, his big grin chasing away Kurt’s fears, at least for the moment.

Kurt groaned exaggeratedly and gave a full body shudder for emphasis. “You have _no_ idea.”

Finn laughed and patted Kurt on the back before heading into the kitchen to find food, as if they hadn't eaten lunch less than two hours ago. Sometimes it sucked having a brother after spending so many years without one, having to share his father's attention, always finding dirty clothes or dishes in places they simply shouldn't be, but most of the time it was pretty great.

*****

Blaine stared at the shower stall in Kurt’s bathroom, their bathroom, with his stomach in knots. This was stupid. He was being stupid. He shouldn't be afraid of a shower stall.

He had been down there for ten minutes and hadn't even gotten undressed yet. His hands curled around the bottom of his gym shirt and he willed the pounding in his heart to stop. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. _Please God, let this not be happening_.

The images that had flooded his brain in the locker room surfaced again, like refuse bobbing back to the top of a lake, and he gagged back the bile that rose in his throat. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want it to be real.

 _Please don't let this be real_ , he begged. He couldn't handle this. He wasn't strong enough for this. _Let this all be a dream_.

But no one was listening.

With a deep breath Blaine shucked off his dirty clothes and walked over to the shower, spinning the dials quickly and stepping under the spray. He slapped a hand over his mouth to cover the sound of the sob that tore from his throat as the water turned from ice cold to too hot, but he didn't move, letting the burning water sear across his skin, washing away the filth and grime.

_Please. Please don't let this be real. Let it all just be a horrible dream._


	5. Bargaining - Part Two

“Dude, the game is cheating.”

“It's just a computer, Finn. Computers can't cheat.”

Kurt looked up from his phone as Blaine laughed, watching him fondly as the other boy stole Finn's controller from him and did...whatever it was on the screen that Finn had been trying to do. Kurt didn't bother to pretend to care anymore, now that Blaine was here to play with Finn. “See.”

Finn glared and took the controller back when Blaine handed it to him. “Are you good at, like, everything?”

Blaine laughed derisively and turned toward the television. “An unsuccessful attempt to make my father like me. He was never really the 'A for effort' sort of person. I thought if I could be good enough at whatever I did, even video games, then he wouldn't be quite so disappointed in me.”

Before any of them could react to the sudden awkwardness that descended on the room the front door opened and Kurt’s father walked in, causing them all to jump. The look on his face said 'I'm angry, but I'm not going to yell. _Yet_.'.

“Imagine my surprise,” he said, his tone deceptively upbeat. “When the school called me at the garage and told me that all three of my kids had skipped their last two periods today. Does anyone care to explain?”

Kurt bit his lip and glanced at the other two boys. It must look suspicious, with Finn and Blaine sitting on the floor playing video games and Kurt on the couch texting Mercedes (who was still in school, but they had been getting away with that for years now) when they were all supposed to be in class.

“Dad, we...”

“It's my fault,” Blaine said, interrupting the, admittedly, unconvincing excuse Kurt was about to make up. He set the controller down on the floor and stood slowly, facing Burt like he was going to the gallows. “I...I had...something h-happened and...”

Kurt wanted to take Blaine’s hand and make the stuttering stop, make the fear go away. But his dad beat him to it, walking the few steps over to where Blaine stood so stiffly, looking small in pajamas and bare feet.

“Did someone hurt you?” Burt demanded, placing a gentle hand on Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine relaxed almost immediately at the soft touch and it broke Kurt’s heart. He hated that the idea of a father being angry would make Blaine so afraid. Blaine’s father had never hit him, Blaine had assured them all of that time and again after the confrontation in the living room, but scars on the heart, as Kurt well knew, could often be far more painful.

“No. No, that's not it,” Blaine said in a rush, obviously recognizing the look on Burt's face, the one that Finn had labeled his 'angry bear' look. “I mean, Sam pushed me, but he didn't mean to. And it...I...”

His sudden confidence was gone, the words seemingly stuck in his throat, so Kurt intervened. “He remembered something. Something that Grant did, and he got upset in front of the other guys. He didn't want to go back to class so we came home.”

The angry tension left his father's shoulders, replaced instead with understanding. The hand on Blaine’s shoulder squeezed gently. “Come here,” Burt said softly, pulling Blaine forward into a hug.

Blaine stood stiffly for a moment, still so unused to physical affection, but then he deflated into Burt's embrace, his hands coming up to grip the back of Burt's shirt tightly. The four of them stood in silence for a minute before Blaine pulled away, brushing at damp eyes.

“You alright?” Burt asked, one hand still on Blaine’s shoulder, keeping him close. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Blaine shook his head, sniffing delicately, his eyes suddenly downcast to the floor.

“Well, I'm here if you want to. You know that right?”

Blaine nodded this time, a shaky smile offered up to Burt in reassurance, and for a moment Kurt thought they were done, that they would get off scott-free for skipping class, but then his dad's eyes narrowed and he pointed to the couch. “Sit,” he demanded. “All of you.”

Kurt winced and Finn sighed heavily, sinking to the couch gracelessly. Blaine moved to the other end, leaving the middle for Kurt, and Burt sat down on the coffee table in front of them, looking them all over with a calculating glance. His eyes finally settled on Blaine, hunched over and quiet again, the smile gone from his face.

“I understand, Blaine, I do,” Burt said softly. His hands folded together in front of him, as if resisting the urge to reach out and comfort Blaine again. “I know this isn't easy for you. I know that you're just trying to deal with all this the best you know how. And frankly we've been lucky that things haven't been worse over the last few weeks. I honestly expected to have to do a couple of beat downs on those jocks by now. But, Blaine...there are gonna be a lot of bad days.”

Blaine blinked slowly and nodded; his fingers dug into his wrists where the red-moon marks from earlier had scabbed over. Kurt reached out and took one of his hands, holding it tightly in his own before he could do any more damage. He felt Blaine squeeze back, fingers almost crushing.

His father's eyes glanced over them and Kurt wondered, not for the first time, what that look he was giving them meant. It was a _knowing_ sort of look that Kurt couldn't understand because he frankly felt like he didn't know anything right now.

“I know this is hard,” Burt continued, leaning down slightly to catch Blaine’s down-turned eyes. “But we've got a long way to go before any of this starts to get better, and you can't come home every time things get bad.

“I'm not trying to be mean, Blaine. I want you to be happy, and safe. Hell, if I had my way I'd never let any of you out of this house again without me and a shot gun as back-up. But Carole said that might make things like prom a little awkward so...”

Kurt rolled his eyes and Finn chuckled beside him. Blaine just stared fixedly at Burt.

“We can't keep running, Blaine. Running didn't get any of us anywhere good. It's time we face our problems head on. It's the only way we're gonna beat this. Okay?”

Blaine took a deep breath, his shoulders shuddering slightly as he exhaled, and his hand, still wrapped in Kurt’s, relaxed from its death grip. He nodded slowly again, his eyes meeting Burt's, and a look of understanding passed between them.

Kurt felt himself relax as well and he leaned into Blaine’s side, smiled when Blaine leaned back, resting his head on Kurt’s shoulder.

“And no more skipping school. Any of you,” Burt ordered, the last part directed at Kurt and Finn.

“I was his ride!” Kurt protested in mock outrage. “What was I supposed to do, make him walk?”

“And he was my ride,” Finn said, pointing to Kurt.

Burt glared and stood up, pointing a finger at Finn. “You, go wash my car. You,” he turned the same finger onto Kurt. “Go make dinner so your step-mother doesn't have to when she gets home.”

“That's so not a punishment for him!”

Burt ignored Finn's protest and turned to Blaine. “And you are going to help me watch the game we missed last weekend because of the fundraiser for the girls' Regionals costumes.”

Finn sputtered some more, but dutifully wandered out to the garage, muttering under his breath about double standards and why couldn't the girls just wear the same outfit each competition like the guys did. Kurt just smiled and watched Blaine and his father settle down in front of the television before heading off into the kitchen.

*

They were lying in bed together, like always, and Kurt’s fingers were brushing lightly back and forth across Blaine’s shoulders, his arms wrapped carefully around Blaine’s back. He could feel taut muscles under the soft cotton of Blaine’s sleep shirt, corded tight with stress.

Tonight the nightmares would be bad. He had them every night still, dreams of Grant or his father, things he couldn't even remember come morning. Sometimes they were kinder; Blaine would sleep through them and Kurt wouldn't even notice save for the glassy, hollow look in Blaine’s eyes every morning.

Sometimes Kurt would wake to the sound of Blaine’s soft whimpers, his hands clenching tight in the blankets or the materiel of Kurt’s shirt, and Kurt would gently shake him awake. After those nights Blaine would apologize and pull away from Kurt, trying to give him space. Kurt would tell him to stop feeling guilty and they would both lie awake for hours, waiting for the alarm to go off and signal another day was beginning.

But sometimes Kurt couldn't wake him. The dreams would take hold and imprison Blaine until Kurt went to get his father, dragging him, half asleep but always willing, down the stairs to where Blaine thrashed and cried out, terrified in his sleep.

Burt would sit bleary-eyed beside Blaine and take him by the hand, the other brushing at wild curls and his soft, deep voice whispering soothing comfort until Blaine woke with a gasp and fell into Burt's arms. They would sit like that, Blaine trembling in fear and exhaustion in Burt's embrace, until he calmed down and Burt could pass him off to Kurt once again. 

He would always stay, after. Sitting at the end of the bed until Kurt sang Blaine off to sleep, his body and mind too tired to stay awake after fighting so hard with the dreams. Tonight would be one of those nights.

In retrospect Kurt realized it had been ridiculous of him to assume that his father hadn't known they were sleeping in the same bed all that time. He had always been careful not to fall asleep with Blaine until after his father had left again, but it couldn't have escaped his notice that every time he came downstairs to comfort Blaine he was sleeping in Kurt’s bed. Oh well.

Blaine let out a weary sigh and Kurt focused on him, his fingers curling carefully into the tense muscles of his shoulders, trying to sooth him slightly before they fell asleep.

The look on Blaine’s face was one of confusion and Kurt made a soft noise of inquiry, his fingers digging in just a little harder. “What is it?”

“He said...” Blaine trailed off quickly, as if he had no words to form the question he was trying to ask. “He called me his kid. He said the school told him all _three_ of his kids had left. He...I don't...understand.”

Kurt wanted to say something, to explain that that was just his dad, that he really was that amazing. He wanted to tell Blaine that his dad meant it, even if it had just been an off-handed comment, that the moment he had signed those papers to become Blaine’s guardian, before even, he considered Blaine part of the family.

He wanted to say all that, but he didn't know how. He didn't know how to explain a father's love. So he just pulled Blaine in tighter, hugged him a little closer, like he could hold all the pieces of him together.

*****

Blaine didn't sleep that night. He lay awake for hours, watching the clock and tracking the slow passage of time. He tried not to fidget, tried not to disturb Kurt as the other boy slept soundly beside him. The warm press of Kurt’s arm across Blaine’s stomach was like an anchor, but one that weighed heavily on Blaine’s mind.

He should _want_ to be a part of this family. They cared about him, he knew. Not because he was the perfect son, the diligent student, the plastic doll molded to their liking, but because he was a person that deserved to be cared about. He should be happy here. He tried to be. Tried to smile more for them, tried to laugh and be...what? Normal?

But he was only here because he had been broken and abandoned, like a toy, used up and thrown away.

He just wanted it all to go back. Back to the way it was before.

Before when you were alone, his mind reminded him. Before when the closest thing you had to family was the butler. When your father was always disappointed in you and your mother never cared. Where 'home' was your school and you dreaded going back to that house for the holidays.

Blaine thought about Burt's words today, _I want you to be happy, and safe_ , and how different they were from his own father's parting words. _Slut. Coward. I never want to see you again_.

Blaine couldn't imagine Burt abandoning Kurt, or Finn. He couldn't imagine Burt abandoning _him_. 

Blaine slipped his hand into Kurt’s, wrapping his fingers around Kurt’s own slack ones. Would he give all of this up? Would he go back to a distant family and holding Kurt at arm’s length, just to be rid of the memories, the half-formed dreams that tore screams from his throat at night and the scars that only he could see?

Kurt shifted in his sleep, pulled his hand away from Blaine’s only to nuzzle his face into Blaine’s shoulder, mouth parted and hot breath soaking through Blaine’s shirt to warm his skin. Blaine turned his head towards Kurt until Kurt’s shower-damp hair was brushing against Blaine’s chin. He breathed deeply, smelling Kurt’s shampoo and the expensive moisturizers on his warm skin.

 _No_ , he thought, closing his eyes and trying to sleep. _No, I wouldn't give this up_.

But deep down his stomach clenched and his heart beat faster, as if he were telling a lie.


	6. Depression - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a flashback scene in this chapter. Please be cautious of any triggers.

Blaine woke, warm and still a little sleepy, on the first official day of their spring break. It was the first Saturday in April and it was supposed to be sunny all weekend. He had demanded that Kurt leave the alarm clock off; it was the first time he had ever been allowed to sleep in on a vacation and he wasn't going to miss out on it.

Blaine snuggled back into the blankets and the soft press of Kurt’s body behind him, not even bothering to look at the clock. If Kurt wasn't awake it couldn't be very late in the morning.

If he could admit it to himself, and he could easily on a day like today, he loved waking up like this, with Kurt sleeping softly beside him and enough time to just lay there and _exist_ for a little while. On those rare occasions it felt like they lived in a world all their own, just the two of them with no worries or pressures. When it was like this it was easier to just _forget_.

It still amazed him sometimes, how thoroughly Kurt had changed his life. Not even counting the last two months, Kurt’s presence had been like a gift he hadn't even known he wanted. They had bonded the day they met over shared pain, two lost boys in the middle of Ohio, and after that it was like they didn't know how to be without each other anymore. He had needed Kurt just as much as Kurt needed him and now Kurt was like a lifeline; sometimes he was the only reason Blaine got out of bed every morning.

Sunlight was just starting to peek through the basement windows, the outside world brightening with spring warmth and turning the monochromatic room to a sea of gold. Blaine smiled when he felt Kurt snuggle up closer to him, his nose brushing the hair at the nape of Blaine’s neck, the arm slung across his waist pulling him closer.

Kurt was definitely a snuggler. Blaine had found that out quickly when had had woken up the morning after their confrontation with Grant with Kurt wrapped around him like he was a giant teddy bear.

It hadn't bothered him even then, with his body still hurting and his brain feeling like shattered glass, to have Kurt so close. He had felt safe, being in Kurt’s room, in his bed, with Kurt wrapped all around him.

And now they woke up like this most mornings, invading each other’s space, holding on tightly to each other. Sometimes they would be facing each other, hands curled tightly in sleep clothes or clutched together between them, Blaine’s head tucked up under Kurt’s chin or Kurt using Blaine’s shoulder for a pillow, their feet tangling beneath the blankets.

But usually they were like this, slotted in beside each other like puzzle pieces, chest to back, their heartbeats making counter rhythms to each other. Blaine was usually the little spoon, but that was okay because he liked it. He liked the feeling of Kurt’s chest pressed strong and warm against his back, his long arms holding him tightly. He liked the warmth of Kurt’s breath on his neck and the way they just seemed to _fit_.

The light in the room grew steadily brighter, and Blaine was just starting to wonder if he should get up now or if he could try and fall back asleep again, when Kurt moved behind him. One long thigh pressed up against the back of Blaine’s legs and Kurt’s hips shifted until...oh.

Blaine’s eyes widened in shock and he bit his lips to hold back a startled gasp. That was...oh.

Kurt’s hard cock was suddenly, obtrusively, pressed against Blaine’s ass.

This had never happened before. In all the time they had been sharing a bed, invading each other’s space, ignoring lines and boundaries as if they had never been there at all, _this_ hadn't been a problem.

For one brief moment Blaine wanted to like it, to press back against Kurt and see what would happen. He had thought about it before; being with Kurt in that way. Before all of this had happened, before his world had been shaken like a snow globe, before...

Kurt was gorgeous and Blaine was seventeen, of course he had thought about it, he couldn't help it. He had wondered, often, what Kurt looked like beneath all those layers, if the rest of his skin was as baby soft as his hands. He had wondered what Kurt’s mouth would taste like (probably coffee most of the time) and how his big hands would feel on Blaine’s face, on his chest, his hips.

But his wonderings had usually stopped there, too embarrassed to think of much beyond that. It had always felt like a betrayal of Kurt’s much desired privacy. There was a reason he dressed in so many layers and Blaine had always felt kind of perverted when he thought about taking them all off.

He had never gone so far as to think about Kurt’s dick, but now it was there, pressed up snugly against Blaine’s ass and he suddenly couldn't think about anything else.

It sent a shiver down Blaine’s spine and not in a good way. His brief thought of 'what if' dissolved under the reality of what actually _could_ happen and he suddenly felt disgusted.

He didn't remember much about _that_ night; most of what he knew had come to him in dreams so he had no way of knowing if it was real or not. But the _knowledge_ of what had happened in that motel room, what must have happened, was enough. The bruises that had been left behind, the blood that just wouldn't stop no matter how hard Blaine had tried...those things told him enough and it made him sick. Made him want to hide away and never be touched again.

Blaine took a deep breath and tried to will his rapidly beating heart to slow. Kurt was his best friend and he trusted him implicitly, more than anyone in his life except maybe Gregory, and he knew that Kurt’s erection had nothing to do with him. It wasn't even a sexual thing, it was just...something that happened.

He should get up now, go upstairs and wait for Kurt to wake up on his own and pretend like it never happened. He should-

“Blaine?”

Kurt’s sleepy mumble from behind him stopped Blaine cold. Maybe if he didn't move Kurt wouldn't realize-

“Oh my god!” Kurt sprang from the bed as if burned and Blaine sat up quickly, turned to see Kurt backpedaling across the room, apologies spilling from his mouth like a waterfall. “I'm sorry. Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Blaine! I didn't...I _wouldn't_...Oh my god, what the hell is wrong with me? I'm _so_ sorry!”

Whatever feelings Blaine may have had on the situation changed unequivocally into humor at Kurt’s horrified response. It was probably the wrong reaction, but Blaine didn't care. The look on Kurt’s face was priceless and Blaine started to laugh.

Kurt’s rambling apologies trailed off and he just stood there staring as Blaine laughed and laughed, doubling over with the force of it. He laughed until his stomach hurt, until the look on Kurt’s face went from horrified to annoyed and slightly worried.

“I'm s-sorry,” Blaine wheezed out between laughs as he reached up to wipe the tears from his face. “You're just... oh god.” He fell backwards onto the bed, still giggling as he blinked up at the white ceiling.

“I'm glad you find this humorous,” Kurt huffed, slipping into self-preservation mode, which Blaine knew for Kurt meant bitchy and aloof. “I wake up to realize I've been molesting you in my sleep and you get struck with the giggles. Wonderful.”

It suddenly wasn't funny anymore. The laughter stopped abruptly and Blaine sat back up to face Kurt, that familiar pounding in his heart starting up again.

“Hey, no. _No_. Kurt, you didn't.” How could Kurt say that? How could he even _think_ that? Blaine needed to fix this, now. “Kurt, you didn't do anything wrong.”

“But I-”

“You got an erection in your sleep. It happens. It's _normal_ , Kurt,” Blaine implored, trying to reassure him. And he truly believed those words. Whatever moment of panic he had was just that, panic, a gut reaction. What had happened didn't mean anything, it certainly wasn't something he needed to fear. This was _Kurt_ after all. Kurt’s own horror and guilt over it was enough to make Blaine remember that.

“I mean, seriously, Kurt, we're teenage boys, it's...practically a requirement.”

Kurt’s pale face flushed a delicate pink and his hands twisted together in front of him. Blaine didn't know what Kurt knew about sex, but he was almost certain that Kurt was a virgin. Even the _thought_ of sex to Kurt had always seemed about as taboo as the idea of Lady Gaga suddenly retiring.

“No, Blaine,” Kurt hissed, every line in his body taught with tension, his mouth twisted in anguish still. “It's...sick. And disgusting and...and _wrong_! I shouldn't have...I can't believe I-”

“Kurt, if you think having an erection is sick and disgusting and wrong we have bigger problems on our hands here,” Blaine said, attempting to lighten the situation. It didn't work.

Kurt gave him a withering look and Blaine bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing again. “I mean-”

“I know what you mean,” Blaine sighed. He moved until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, patting the place beside him. Kurt took a few hesitant steps, the look on his face a strange mixture of embarrassment and irritation. When he moved within arm's length Blaine reached out and tugged him closer until he sat reluctantly.

“You weren't molesting me. Please don't ever say that. I...it's okay.”

“Blaine-”

“It's _okay_ , Kurt.”

Kurt turned those beautiful, heartbroken eyes to him and Blaine wanted desperately to reach out and brush his fingers against the perfect golden eyelashes that had turned dark with dampness.

“You know,” he said, his voice shaking just slightly as he tried for brevity; his hands clenched into fists in his lap to keep him from doing something stupid. “If I slept in my own bed we wouldn't have to worry about it. I could move if you want.”

“No! I mean...” Kurt blushed as his sudden outburst and looked away from Blaine. “I like having you in my bed. Oh my god!”

Blaine bit back another laugh as Kurt’s eyes widened and his blush spread across his whole face and down his neck when he realized what he had said. “I didn't mean that! I didn't...I mean...oh my god.” Kurt buried his red face in his hands, his shoulders slumping in sudden defeat.

Blaine smiled and reached out for one of Kurt’s hands, pulling it away from his face and into his lap, forcing Kurt to turn toward him again. “I know what you mean,” he said softly. He linked their fingers together and bumped Kurt's shoulder gently. “I...I like being with you too.”

This earned him a genuine smile and for a minute they sat in silence, just the two of them, happy to be lost together.

After a few minutes Blaine sighed and squeezed Kurt’s hand before releasing it. “We should go upstairs,” he said quietly, as if reluctant to break the silence. “Before your dad adds too many unhealthy things to the shopping list.”

They had a barbeque scheduled for that afternoon and Blaine was somewhat ridiculously excited about it. Burt had required that the first weekend they had off belonged to the family and then they could do whatever they wanted after that (excepting of course the trip to Atlantic City that Puck had proposed). Blaine couldn't remember the last time he had a 'family weekend', if there had ever been one.

Kurt shrugged, but stood up anyway and headed toward the closet. “We can buy that stuff for Finn and I'll just take it off dad's plate when he's not looking.”

As Kurt disappeared into the closet to seek out today’s ensemble Blaine lay back down against the softness of Kurt’s bed, breathing in their mingled smell, and smiled. Today would be a good day after all.

******

“That's disgusting.”

Kurt ignored the roll of his father's eyes and continued to look with trepidation at the thing lying on one of his hand-painted Marie Claire serving dishes.

“You eat fish all the time, Kurt,” Burt sighed, smearing a pre-made marinade onto the trout he had bought at the market. “If I recall, you seem to tell me I need to eat more of it because it's healthy.”

Kurt wrinkled up his nose in disgust. “I eat fish that has been de-boned, fileted, and lightly marinated in a garlic basil sauce. _That_...is gross.” The thing still had eyes for crying out loud, and a wide, gaping mouth complete with little teeth. He never liked to think about what his food looked like before it was dead.

“You should try it. It was fresh caught this morning; that's the best way to eat fish. You'd know that if you had ever gone fishing with me again.”

“I thought we were never speaking of that.”

The one fishing trip that they had attempted, just a few months after his mother's death, had been the biggest disaster of a family vacation ever. He had been traumatized by the poor little worm that his father had stuffed onto the hook, fallen in the water and ruined his new clothes, and ended up with a case of poison ivy all over his hands and face. They had gone home without any fish and their next vacation had been spent at his aunt's house in Seattle where she had a heated pool and been within walking distance of the theater district.

“It's not going to bite you,” Burt sighed, rolling his eyes again.

“It smells,” Kurt defended himself.

Finn looked up from where he had been arranging the table on the other end of the deck, eyebrows creased in confusion. “It smells like fish,” he said. “What do you want it to smell like?”

Carole walked out of the kitchen where she and Blaine had been preparing the potato salad, a platter containing hamburger patties in her hands. “Something that doesn't stink up my kitchen,” she complained, coming to Kurt’s rescue. “Whole fish smells much worse than a nice cod steak from the seafood department.”

Burt threw his hands in the air and glared at his wife for throwing him beneath the bus. “It's just a fish, Kurt. You see them at the aquarium, they swim in the ocean. Here, look at it.”

“Gross, get it away from me.” His father had picked up the fish and was now wielding it at Kurt’s person like a sword. Kurt hopped backwards away from it, glaring.

“Just touch it,” Burt insisted, stepping closer to Kurt as he backed away. “It's just a fish.”

“No, I'm not touching it. Put it on the grill. You shouldn't be playing with your food anyway, _dad_ ,” Kurt sneered, backing even farther away as his dad advanced on him.

Suddenly the look in Burt's eyes turned from insistent to mischievously determined. The last time Kurt had seen that look was when his father had insisted he learn how to take apart an engine when he was thirteen. He was now an excellent mechanic; he would _never_ be a fisherman. 

He turned and ran, completely unsurprised when he heard his father's heavy footsteps follow after him across the deck. He dodged around the table and over the potted plants he and Carole had been working on that morning and was just about to make a dash for the back yard when his father blocked his path down the stairs. The smile on Burt's face was so joyously happy it made Kurt’s eyes water as he turned back around, his own smile stretching wide as he made his way back toward the table and Finn.

“Finn, help me!” Kurt begged, trying to hide behind his brother's hulking form. But Finn, the traitor, raised his hands and moved out of the way, sitting down at the table and laughing (he was so going to pay for this later) as Kurt felt his dad's arms wrap around his waist and lift him up off the the ground.

Kurt most certainly did _not_ shriek as his feet left the ground and he found himself being twirled around like he was six again. The fish was gone, forgotten in the chase and presumably on the grill where it belonged, and Burt's laughter rang out across the yard as they spun.

“Take the fish!” his father demanded.

“No! It's disgusting!” Kurt wailed, feet kicking uselessly in the air. “Stop it! Put me down!”

“Take it!”

“Dad, please! I'm gonna throw up! Stop it!”

“You know you want it!”

“No!”

Over the sound of their argument Kurt heard something shatter and his dad suddenly dropped him back to his feet, both of them turning around to see Blaine standing halfway out of the backdoor with the dish of potato salad broken on the deck. Kurt smiled and stepped forward to help clean it up when he noticed that Blaine wasn't moving.

His hands still hung in mid-air, as if he were still holding the bowl, and his eyes were staring straight ahead, his face slack and almost vacant. “Blaine?” Kurt asked quietly, slowly walking over to where Blaine was standing.

His dad walked with him, eyes full of concern as they stopped in front of the unmoving boy. Carole was at the grill and Finn was still sitting at the table, both of them casting glances at each other then back to the door. Blaine’s sudden stillness was unnerving.

“Blaine, are you alright?” Burt asked, one hand reaching out toward him.

Too late Kurt remembered where he had seen that look on Blaine’s face before - in the boy’s locker room, when Sam had pushed him. Before Kurt could stop him, Burt's hand came down heavy on Blaine’s shoulder and Blaine’s eyes snapped back to life.

******

_His head feels thick and his body won't move. He tries to sit up but someone pushes him back down, climbs onto the bed. Who-_

_'So beautiful like this.' He knows that voice._

_Grant. His french teacher. Why is his teacher in his bed? He can't think. He can't_ breathe. __

_A hand in his hair, stroking down his cheek. He doesn't want to be touched, he feels sick._

_'You're such a fucking tease, aren't you, Blaine?' A voice in his ear, hissing, breath hot on his skin and he feels like he's burning. 'And a dirty little slut.'_

_Blaine cringes, tries to pull away from the hands and the breath in his ear but he can't._

_He's not a slut. He had cared about Adam. He was the only one-_

_There are hands on his arms, pushing, moving them up. He feels something wrap around his wrists and now he's scared. Can't move, can't think. What's going on? This shouldn't be happening._

_A hand slides down his chest, over his hips. This isn't right. He hears a zipper being pulled, far away like an echo. His pants are yanked open and he feels tears start in his eyes. This isn't right._

_'Stop.'_

_'Don't give me that, you little slut. You know you want it.'_

_His pants are pulled down and he starts to cry. No. He doesn't want this. He_ doesn't. __

_But the words are stuck, he can't get them out. Don't do this. Don't-_

*****

“-touch him!”

Blaine’s shout rang out across the backyard like a gunshot and Kurt watched in horror as Blaine, who just moments ago had been nearly catatonic as Burt tried to get his attention, was suddenly lunging out of the doorway, his hands seizing Burt's shirt as he propelled them both towards the stairs at the back of the deck.


	7. Depression - Part Two

It happened so quickly Finn barely had time to register what was going on. He knew that look on Blaine’s face, had seen that scary blankness before, and then Blaine was yelling, pushing Burt backwards across the deck. Finn saw what was about to happen and pushed away from the table, nearly knocking it over as he launched himself at them.

Just as Burt's back foot reached the steps, one hand shooting out for the deck railing to stop himself from going over the edge, the other on Blaine’s shoulder, trying to push him back without hurting him, Finn grabbed Blaine around the waist and hoisted him backwards.

Blaine’s hands, yanked away from their strangle-hold on Burt's shirt, fell to Finn's wrists and he immediately started struggling against him, clawing at Finn's skin as he started yelling.

“Don't you touch him!” he screamed, voice high and angry. His whole body was vibrating with adrenaline as he fought to get away from Finn, to get back to Burt who stood frozen at the edge of the deck. “He told you to stop! You didn't listen! He told you to stop!”

Realization suddenly dawned on everyone's stunned faces. Finn heard his mom gasp and saw Burt's face fall in despair. Kurt ran to them from the other side of the deck and tried to grab one of Blaine’s hands, but the other boy was still struggling against Finn's hold, too angry and confused to realize that Kurt was even there.

“He told you to stop and you didn't listen!” Blaine yelled again. His fingernails dug into Finn's wrists, making him wince, but he still held tight. He wasn't sure what Blaine would do right now if he let go. “You have no right to touch him!”

Kurt reached out again to try to calm him, his face stricken, tears welling up in his eyes. “God, Blaine, no. Stop, please. It's okay,” he begged.

Across the deck Burt looked wrecked, like someone had just ripped out his heart. He looked like he wanted to take Blaine into his arms, hold him until the pain and fear in his eyes faded. But how do you fix a wound that you caused, even if it was unintentional?

Finn had no idea what to do. This was so much worse than last time and he hadn't known what to do then either. He looked back at his mom, searching for an answer, but she looked just as lost as the rest of them. 

He cringed when Blaine let out a pained sort of sound and started to struggle harder. Finn hated that he was the one holding him back, keeping him trapped. Two months and Blaine could still barely tolerate Finn touching him. How much damage was this going to do? Finn loosened his grip as much as he dared, guilt winning over caution.

As Finn let go Blaine turned toward Kurt, still within the circle of Finn's arms, and Finn could see the tears streaking down his cheeks, but mostly he was a mask of anger and determination.

“He can't touch you,” Blaine said to Kurt, his voice a low growl, fighting for Kurt the way he hadn't been able to do for himself. “He can't hurt you. I won't let him.”

Kurt shook his head sadly, one hand reaching out for Blaine again, wrapping gently around his wrist, pulling his hand away from Finn's arm. “He's my dad, Blaine,” he whispered, his own voice soft and a little broken. “He would never hurt me, you know that. He's my _dad_.” As if that was explanation enough. As if Blaine should know that there was nothing to fear, just because Burt was _Burt_.

Kurt stepped a little closer to them, one hand still wrapped carefully around Blaine’s wrist, the other coming up to brush at the curls of hair falling into his face. “He wouldn't hurt me,” he repeated, his eyes darting back to where Burt still stood frozen. “We were just messing around, Blaine. It was just a joke, okay? He would never hurt me. You know that, don't you? You know my dad would never hurt anyone. Well...unless they tried to hurt us first.”

Kurt offered Blaine a soft smile, trying to coax him out of whatever nightmare he was trapped in. Finn had witnessed Burt's anger before, the way he had gone after Karofsky, that horrible day in the basement last year. Burt would do whatever it took to protect them, all of them. 

Finn glanced over at his step-father, saw the way his shoulders trembled as he tried to hold himself back from just taking them all into his arms and never letting go. Finn knew that if anything in the world was true, it was that Burt Hummel was a good man; a safe place. Blaine just needed to remember.

“No one can hurt me,” Kurt said, his eyes locked with Blaine’s, willing him to listen, his hands coming up to stroke his face gently. “There are too many people looking out for me now. My dad, Finn, _you_. No one can hurt me again, okay? No one can hurt either of us. Just...just come back. Come back to me.”

Finn watched as the desperate, angry light faded from Blaine’s eyes. The other boy took a deep breath, shaking his head as if to clear it of dust and he blinked in confusion. When he pushed at Finn's arms, not frantic like before, just trying to move out of his grasp Finn sighed and released him, stepping back to give him space.

Slowly Blaine’s eyes moved around the deck, looking briefly at all of them before finally landing on Burt. His shoulders hunched up when their eyes met, making him look smaller than he was, and his mouth worked silently for a moment, nothing coming out until he finally whispered, “I'm so sorry.”

Burt moved immediately, striding across the deck and taking Blaine into his arms, holding him tightly as Blaine’s shoulders started to shake. Finn could hear him whispering into Burt's shoulder, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

*****

Kurt stood stiffly beside Finn, fighting the tears in his eyes and clasping his hands tightly in front of himself to keep from reaching out to Blaine. It was as if the universe refused to allow them a moment’s happiness. This was too much, more than anyone should have to handle, and things just kept piling on. Kurt kept wondering when all the cracks would finally cause Blaine to shatter.

Still wrapped in Burt's arms, Blaine was shaking, apologies spilling in a steady stream from his mouth.

“It's okay, Blaine,” Burt said softly, his large hands brushing softly over Blaine’s back. “It's okay. Everything's fine.”

Blaine pushed away from Burt suddenly, his face twisting in frustration and misery. His hands pushed into his hair, fists wrapping around the soft, curly strands and pulling cruelly.

“No! I ruined everything!” he shouted, backing away from everyone, putting space between himself and the rest of the family. “I always ruin everything!"

“Blaine...” Burt's soft word was hesitant, as if he wasn't sure how Blaine would react if he tried to deny the boy's words.

Blaine looked up at him and his face fell again when he realized he had had another outburst. Hands slipped away from his hair, falling to his sides and hanging deliberately loose.

Kurt watched, despairing, as Blaine visibly forced himself to calm down, to reign in his emotions, lock them all up again like he had been doing for months. He wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, make him let go and just _feel_.

But the wall Blaine kept up so much of the time, even when it was just the two of them, safe and alone in the dark, was becoming more and more impenetrable. Kurt didn't know how to help him, how to convince him that it was okay to need help, and it frustrated him and broke his heart all in one.

“I'm so tired of this,” Blaine sighed, his eyes downcast to the deck, avoiding looking at any of them again. “I'm tired of the nightmares, and feeling so afraid all the time. I'm tired of being such a coward, and I'm tired of being a burden.” 

“You're not a burden, Blaine,” Carole insisted from the other side of the deck, words she had been repeating for two months now. “You never have been.”

“I _feel_ like I am,” Blaine lamented, tears welling up in his eyes as he looked around at all of them desperately. “All I ever do is make things worse for you guys. You changed your whole lives for me, and I can't even get better. I try. I try to be better, but I don't know how and I hate it. I'm just so tired.”

Blaine sank to the deck, pulling his knees up and laying his head down on them. The tears slid from his eyes, and he didn't even try to brush them away. The rest of them were left standing helplessly around the deck, unsure of what to do. Finn looked awkward, Carole looked heartbroken, and Burt kept switching back and forth between angry and lost.

Kurt, having no clue as to what else he could do, knelt down beside Blaine and wrapped his arms around the other boy’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Things _will_ get better,” he whispered into Blaine’s ear with all the conviction he could muster.

“When?” Blaine asked. His body was perfectly still, neither pulling away or leaning into Kurt’s touch like he normally would. It was like all the energy had been drained out of him, leaving behind a mannequin that could talk and breathe, but had no life of its own. “Every day I wake up thinking, _today_ will be better, today it won't hurt so much, I won't feel so lost. But it never gets better.”

“Blaine...”

Blaine shook his head weakly and turned away from Kurt, burying his face in his knees as his shoulders started to shake with silent sobs. Carole ushered Finn back into the house, following after him with one last sad look back at the three of them.

As the door closed softly, leaving Blaine, Kurt and Burt alone on the deck, the barbeque long forgotten, Kurt looked at his dad, his eyes begging him to offer an answer, anything, to just fix it like he used to when Kurt was small and his biggest problems were skinned knees and the other boys on the playground stealing his Power Rangers. Burt just shook his head and reached out one hand to lay heavily on Kurt’s shoulder.

There was no magic fix for this, no words to be said that could take it all away. Kurt laid his head down on Blaine’s trembling shoulder, pulling him closer and holding on tight. It was all he could do.

*****

Blaine tried not to sleep that night, he knew what would happen if he did, but exhaustion won out over fear and Blaine found himself waking with a scream locked in his throat. Kurt stirred beside him, jostled by Blaine’s sudden movement, and Blaine stilled, willing the other boy back to sleep.

“Blaine?” Kurt mumbled sleepily, burying his face into his pillow, eyes remaining shut as one hand groped out to where Blaine was sitting up in the bed. 

“Ssh.” Blaine quieted Kurt, taking his hand to still him as he willed the images in his head, broken remnants of the dream that were all too real, to fade away like they always did.

Kurt hummed softly, his hand going slack in Blaine’s as he drifted back to sleep. As carefully as he could Blaine slid out of the bed, glancing at the bedside clock and wincing when he saw the time. It was too early to just get up, but he didn't want to go back to bed either. He would probably fall asleep again and he was sick of the dreams.

With a sigh, Blaine grabbed his pillow and the throw blanket off the back of the couch and then headed up the stairs. The least he could do is sleep where he wouldn't wake up anyone else with his nightmares. He quietly made his way into the living room and turned on the table lamp by the couch, only to gasp in surprise when the dim light revealed someone else already sleeping there.

Burt was curled up on the short couch, his head pillowed on his arms and a blanket pulled haphazardly over his legs. Blaine froze for a moment, startled by Burt's unexpected presence, and was just about to turn to leave when he heard the telltale rustle of Burt waking up.

“Blaine?” Burt mumbled blearily, rubbing a hand over his tired face as he sat up. He reminded Blaine so much of Kurt in that moment that it almost made him laugh. Almost.

“I..I'm sorry. I didn't...I'll go.”

Blaine turned to make a hasty retreat back to the basement, but stopped when he felt a hand grip his wrist then quickly let go again. He turned back to Burt to see him looking wide awake and a little sad. “Come here,” Burt demanded, motioning to the open space on the couch beside him. 

Blaine cast a reluctant glance back at the basement door before sitting stiffly beside Burt. Burt moved away from Blaine as he sat, pressing himself against the side of the couch to give Blaine more room.

“I know I'm probably the last person you want to see right now, Blaine.”

Blaine felt his heart sink at Burt's words and turned to him quickly, shaking his head. “No, that's...I don't...Burt, I'm so sorry about earlier. It wasn't _you_ and I...I'm sorry. You-”

“Blaine. Blaine, stop,” Burt said gently, placing a large, callused hand over the one Blaine had been waving in the air, trying to make his point, to make Burt understand. “Stop apologizing all the time, Blaine. It's alright.”

Blaine took in a deep, shaky breath, trying to hold back the burning sensation behind his eyes. He didn't want to cry anymore. “I just...”

“Blaine, you're allowed to react however the hell you want,” Burt said insistently, catching and holding Blaine’s gaze, as if he was trying to sear the words into Blaine’s mind. “You can cry, or scream, or whatever you want. And if every now and then you need to take it out on me, that's okay too. I'm not gonna let you hurt me, and if it makes you feel better to yell at me then that's fine, you go right ahead.”

Burt's face from earlier that day, so heartbroken as he stood at the edge of the deck while Finn held Blaine back, flashed through Blaine’s mind. “It _doesn't_ make me feel better,” he whispered. “It makes me feel like crap.” Burt had done everything in the world for him, more than his own father had ever done. He didn't deserve to be treated that way.

“Blaine...you're trying so hard to act like everything's okay, but it's alright that it's not. No one expects you to be happy about any of this.”

“It's just been so long-”

“Two months? Blaine, two months in nothing. You've got to give yourself time.”

But it had felt like a lifetime already. Like he had lived and died and been born again into this life that didn't make any sense. Blaine curled his hands into his sleep pants and stared at the floor. Why couldn't it just be over? He was so damn tired.

“Blaine...” Burt's voice was cautious, as if he didn't know how to say what he wanted to. Blaine tore his eyes away from the floor and forced himself to look up at Burt, his face neutral, composed. If he just tried harder he could be better.

“Have you...” Burt continued, running his hand over his head in a familiar, nervous gesture. It was almost calming, the familiarity of it. “Have you thought about talking to someone? Like...a counselor or a therapist?”

Blaine cringed and wrapped his arms around his waist. “Kurt wants me to,” he confessed. Kurt had never come right out and said it, but he had certainly made it obvious that he thought Blaine needed professional help. “He keeps mentioning support groups and stuff, and I've found some of Ms. Pillsbury’s pamphlets in my book bag more than once.”

This made Burt laugh, his eyes sparkling fondly at the thought of Kurt surreptitiously sneaking those strange pamphlets into Blaine’s bag while he wasn't looking. When he looked back at Blaine his eyes were serious once again. “ _Have_ you thought about it?”

“I've thought about it. I just...”

Blaine was almost glad to see Burt nod in agreement of his unspoken thought. To sit alone in a room with a stranger and confess that he was failing miserably, to tell them everything and lay himself bare for someone he didn't even know, was a terrifying idea.

“Yeah,” Burt said. “I never liked the idea either. My sister wanted me to see someone after Lizzy died. I wasn't doing very well and she was worried about how me being so depressed would affect Kurt.”

“Did you go?”

Burt shook his head, his mouth pulled down in a frown. “No. No, I didn't.”

“But you and Kurt both turned out okay.”

“Yeah, we did. But that doesn't mean it's the right way for you to go. Those people do what they do for a reason, Blaine, because people need them. Maybe _you_ do. I'm not trying to push, just...think about it, okay?”

Blaine nodded reluctantly, but he knew that it wasn't something he would ever want to do.

The silence stretched on for a moment, then Burt leaned down to catch Blaine’s eyes again, something he always did when he was trying to make a point, to make sure that they were listening, that they understood. Blaine looked up at him, biting at his lip nervously in anticipation.

Burt sighed heavily and reached out one hand to grip Blaine’s shoulder gently. The look on his face was sad. They were always so sad around Blaine, it made him feel guilty.

“And you know you can come to us too,” Burt said earnestly. “If you need to talk to someone, we'll listen. It's what we're here for.”

Blaine opened his mouth to say that, yes, he knew that, he had always known it, it was just hard to be so bare in front of the people he cared about so much. But what came out instead was, “I don't understand why you're doing all of this.”

Burt sighed again. Blaine wanted to apologize, but he wasn't sure why. He didn't say anything though, just watched the sadness deepen in Burt's eyes, felt the hand on his shoulder tighten just a little.

“I know, Blaine. And that's why Carole and I, and Kurt and Finn, are all trying so hard to help you. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be safe, and loved. It's what families do for each other.”

“You just...you didn't ask for this, and you-”

“I didn't ask for Kurt either.”

Blaine blinked owlishly at that, and Burt laughed softly.

“When Lizzy got pregnant with Kurt she was on birth control. I had just started the business, she was still in school, we didn't want kids yet. Hell, back then I didn't know if I _ever_ wanted kids. But he came along anyway, and I have never once in my life regretted that.

“And I don't regret signing those papers either, Blaine. Even when I'm awake at four o'clock in the morning. At least I'm not changing dirty diapers. That I could do without for the rest of my life.”

Blaine smiled down at his hands and wasn't surprised when he felt Burt tug him into a hug. If he was perfectly honest with himself he had never felt so safe as he did when Burt held on to him like this. Maybe this was what a father's embrace should have felt like all along, or maybe it was just Burt and his unwavering strength and love.

“We want you here, Blaine,” Burt said softly, his arms tight around Blaine’s shoulders and the rumble of his voice vibrating through Blaine’s body. “You're a part of this family now, and nothing is going to change that.”

Slowly Blaine felt himself relaxing as Burt held him tightly, his words filling up Blaine’s mind, and soon he was fast asleep, his head pillowed on Burt's shoulder. When Kurt gently shook him awake hours later, a plate of pancakes in one hand and the sound of Burt, Carole and Finn talking in the kitchen, Blaine found himself smiling.


	8. Anger - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a rather intense scene of physical assault as well as a flashback. Please be cautious of any triggers.

Blaine took a deep breath and leaned back against the solid brick wall of the school's gymnasium. His palms pressed against the wall, the harsh texture biting into his skin just enough to hurt, to ground him.

He had left his security detail in the boy's bathroom with Kurt, begging off when Mike had tried to follow him out the door. It had taken his most sincere 'puppy dog eyes' and a promise not to tell Finn before Mike had agreed.

Blaine just needed to be alone for a minute, to catch his breath. Some days it felt like he was drowning in the sea of people that made up McKinley's hallways. He kept thinking it would get better, that if he waited long enough the constant jitters, the feeling of _something_ crawling under his skin as he walked passed and through all those people would go away, but if anything it was just getting worse. Some days he could barely even stand to have the guys following them from class to class.

Even Kurt had let him go, recognizing the look in Blaine’s eyes for what it was - the onset of panic, the need to get _away_ \- and giving him a soft smile as the door shut behind him. Only the worry in Kurt's eyes told Blaine that he wasn't entirely comfortable being out of each other’s sight.

If Blaine was honest with himself he wasn't exactly comfortable with it either. His chest felt tight and the only thing keeping his hands from shaking was the wall at his back, still digging into his palms. But he needed space more than he needed Kurt right now, just a minute to breathe without eyes watching his every move or bodies pressing all around him.

Besides, he couldn't stay dependent on Kurt forever. Blaine took a deep breath and closed his eyes, relaxing as much as he could into the wall and letting the soft spring breeze cool the sweat on his face.

Someday Kurt was going to want his life back. He would want his space and his independence, two things he had been denied since Blaine’s stupidity had dumped him into the Hummel's laps. Blaine couldn't hold Kurt’s hand forever or Kurt was sure to start resenting him for it. He had to learn how to be on his own, how to take care of himself. He had done that for seventeen years before Kurt came in to his life and he could do it again when he had to.

Blaine let out a sigh and dug his fingertips into the brick beneath his palms. He should go back. Back into the press of bodies, the people who ignored him and the ones that still stared, back to Kurt.

The door to his right, the one next to the gym that led out to the back parking lot, swung open, but Blaine ignored it. He had left it open slightly so that he wouldn't get locked outside and he figured the breeze had caught it and swung it open farther.

It wasn't until he heard the crunch of gravel beneath numerous, heavy footsteps that Blaine realized he had been wrong to come out here alone.

*****

Finn was still in shop class, using his study hall period to work on the jewelry box he was trying to finish for Mother's Day. It was one of the few classes he was actually good at and Mr. Lynch had given him permission to work unsupervised so that he would have time to finish the intricate woodwork.

Finn was about to fire up the scroll saw again when the door burst open and the last person Finn expected to see ran into the room. Karofsky was breathing heavily, like he had run a long way, and his face looked anxious.

“Karofsky, what are-?”

“You have to come with me,” the other boy huffed, reaching out for Finn's arm and grabbing a fistful of his jacket, yanking him towards the door.

Finn recoiled, pulling his arm out of the other boy's grasp and taking a step back. “What are you doing, Karofsky?” he demanded, planting his feet firmly in case this escalated into a fight.

Karofsky growled and turned back around. The look on his face was almost desperate and he held his hands up in front of him, trying to placate Finn. “I don't have time to explain,” he hissed, his feet moving restlessly, as if he couldn’t hold still. “Just...come on. Please.”

Finn wasn't sure why, but the tone of Karofsky's voice, the desperate pleading, was so unlike the bully that Finn put the box carefully down on his work table and ran after Karofsky as he sprinted out of the room. 

They ran through the school, dodging passed other students who were going to seventh period classes, and to the back exit beside the gym. It was supposed to be an emergency exit, but the alarm had broken years ago, so now it was just a shortcut to the back parking lot.

Karofsky pulled the door open and practically shoved Finn through it, and Finn had just a moment to be worried that Karofsky was double-crossing him when he saw what had the other boy so panicked.

Finn pulled up short just outside the door, suddenly frozen in place, horrified by what he was seeing.

On the other side of the gym, heading towards the row of dumpsters, there was a group of jocks, all large bodies and proud red jackets, and Blaine caught in the middle of them all. It was a familiar scene at McKinley, though not as much lately, but this wasn't like it had ever been before. There was something wrong about what Finn was seeing, something horrible and terrifying.

Blaine was not walking docilely along to the dumpsters, ready to accept his fate like so many others had. He had obviously not gone quietly when the jocks cornered him. He was struggling wildly, feet kicking desperately and his head was thrashing back and forth in an effort to dislodge the hand that was wrapped around his mouth, muffling his screams. 

They had hauled him up off the ground, each of them taking a flailing limb and carrying him bodily across the parking lot as he tried to get away, like an unwilling sacrifice ready to be thrown to the gods. Through the crush of bodies Finn could see the fear in Blaine’s eyes, the sheer terror, as if he fought for his life, and it made him sick.

Sure, he had helped toss a few kids into dumpsters before (but he had always been the one to check the bins for harmful objects, to hold their coats and book bags so they didn't have to smell like garbage all day). He had even thought it was kind of funny, even if it made him feel guilty too, how they would just stand there and accept it, almost impatient, like it was just another part of their day to get through. Eat breakfast, change for school, get tossed in a dumpster, go to homeroom.

This wasn't funny, this was torture. This was a person scared out of his mind and desperate to get away, and they held on to him like a pack of animals going in for the kill. No one at McKinley had ever done anything like _this_ before. The other kids had always just accepted it, resigned to their fate. Blaine was terrified.

Finn felt the anger boil up inside him, causing his jaw to clench and his hands to ball up into fists. He took a few steps toward them but stopped when he realized the hulking presence beside him was gone. He looked back to see Karofsky huddled against the door jam, not moving.

“Are you coming?” Finn demanded. This would be a lot easier if it was two against five, instead of just him. Karofsky stared wide-eyed for a second, the only sound around them that of their teammate’s laughter and Blaine’s muffled screams.

Karofsky blinked owlishly, fear behind his eyes, then shook his head and disappeared behind the door. _Coward_ , Finn thought as he rushed out toward where Blaine still struggled futilely. _Fucking coward_.

That was the last thought that entered his mind before his fist met hard flesh, and then his head was filled with nothing but rage.

*****

_He's trapped. His body won't move the way he wants it too, can barely move at all, and so he can't get away._

_There are hands on him, touching him everywhere, going places they shouldn't. It feels like a dozen pairs of hands, all stroking and pinching, hurting him, but he knows it's just one. One person, one man he was supposed to be able to trust._

_'Please.'_

_Begging hasn't gotten him anywhere. Screaming got him slapped, then punched. His mouth is swollen now, one more pain. It adds to all the others, builds until his body feels like one exposed nerve ending_

_He pulls at his wrists again, pulling and pulling until he leaves bruises. He can hear laughter. It's not funny. He just wants to get away._

_'Please.'_

_Words whisper into his ear, words like 'slut' and 'whore', words like 'beautiful' and 'so good'. He knows he's crying, wishes he would stop. It hurts so much he can hardly breathe. The hands on him, bruising. The mouth that bites at his own, drawing blood. The body that pushes into him, over and over, until he feels like he'll split in two._

_Let me go. He wants to say it but the words get stuck. Wants to scream but he can't anymore. Just let me go._

*****

Everything came to Finn in snapshots; the pain in his hand when he hit Azimio across the jaw, the confused shout from Myers when Azimio dropped Blaine’s arm, leaving him to hold the weight of his flailing body. There was the sudden flare of fire across his cheek when Azimio hit him back, and over it all was the anger, the outrage building inside him. How could anyone do this to another human being?

He distantly heard Blaine sobbing, saw him scramble out of the way and tuck himself into the brick wall of the school when the rest of the football players released him to help their teammate.

Pain started flaring up everywhere, his ribs, his face; he took a hit to his back that sent him to one knee but he forced himself to get back up, to keep fighting. If he went down they might turn back to Blaine.

He could barely get a shot in, trying to ward off five different people while trying to throw punches of his own was nearly impossible; all he could do was try to keep them distracted. He wished that Blaine would go for help, hell even start screaming again, but he could still hear the other boy crying, sobs filtering in over the sound of the jocks shouted slurs.

“Fucking fag!”

“Here to save your boyfriend, fairy?”

“I knew living with those two queers would turn you into one of them.”

A shot to his kidney dropped him to the ground and he immediately rolled to avoid the foot that was aiming for his gut, only to take it in the back instead. He reached out for one of his assailant’s feet, yanking hard and sending him tumbling into one of the others. They both fell to the ground in a heap and as the circle broke Finn saw, way off in the distance, two figures walking toward a red car parked in the back lot.

He let out a yell, a wordless shout of desperation, just as the jocks on the ground leveled themselves back up to rejoin the others. He saw the foot aimed at his head and wondered briefly if it would be better to take it in the skull or in the face, then there was another shout, this time from the back end of the parking lot.

He heard the football players swear, then running feet, and then they were suddenly all gone. His eyes closed in relief and when he opened them again he could see Ms. Pillsbury's shoes in front of his face.

“Finn, oh my goodness. Finn, are you alright?”

Finn thought it was kind of a stupid question, but her little mouse face looked so earnest as she knelt down in front of him that he didn't have the heart to tell her that. He looked over to where Blaine was, curled up into a corner of the wall, and wondered if it was a good sign that the other boy wasn't crying anymore.

But Blaine’s eyes were wide and vacant, his hands at his forearms scratching the skin, and Finn thought he saw blood under his fingernails. Carl was down on his knees beside Blaine’s hunched body and just as he was reaching out to touch him, to put a comforting hand on Blaine’s shoulder, Finn pushed himself up off the ground and threw himself at Carl, hitting his hands away from Blaine.

“Don't touch him!” he shouted, as pain flared up all over his body. He remembered what had happened last time Blaine looked like that and someone tried to touch him, back at the house when Burt had accidentally said the wrong thing and sent Blaine into a flashback. Post-traumatic stress disorder, Burt had called it. 

Carl held his hands up and backed away slightly and Finn felt sort of guilty for yelling at him. He didn't understand. Ms. Pillsbury didn't either. Finn needed to get someone who did.

Finn lurched to his feet and stumbled toward the door that led back into the school.

“Finn, wait! You need to see the nurse!” Ms. Pillsbury yelled after him.

“Just stay with him!” Finn shouted back. “I'll be right back.” And then he was limping through the school in search of his brother.


	9. Anger - Part Two

By the time they got to the back parking lot Kurt was frantic. Finn had given him the abbreviated version of what had happened in the back parking lot as he limped along beside him and Kurt was nearly desperate to get to Blaine before things got worse.

Kurt had wanted nothing more than to sprint outside to be by Blaine’s side, but he couldn't leave Finn behind in the state he was in. His face was turning into a mass of purple and black bruises, one eye was swelling shut already, and he held one arm wrapped protectively around his ribs, his breath coming in short, quick gasps.

Kurt couldn't believe what he had done. Who goes up against five guys single handed? His brother was officially the bravest person Kurt had ever met. And also possibly the stupidest. Who _does_ that?

Out in the parking lot there was chaos. Not only were Blaine and Ms. Pillsbury Mr. Schue out there, but so were Figgins, the school nurse, and Coach Beiste. Kurt pushed his way through the crowd to get to where Blaine still sat, huddled in the corner, eyes wide and vacant.

“Blaine, honey, you need to stop,” Ms. Pillsbury was saying softly, her hands hovering over Blaine’s bleeding arms. The nurse had been lingering nearby, her hands full of bandages, but as soon as she had seen Finn she had pounced on him, forcing him to sit down and immediately dabbing at his bleeding lip.

Kurt knelt down next to Ms. Pillsbury, gently pushing her hands away from Blaine. “Can you make them back off?” he asked, sliding his scarf out of its knot and off his neck. “They're making it worse.”

“Of course,” she said quietly, standing up and getting out of his way. She put one slim hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Will - Mr. Schuester - called you father. He's on his way.”

He nodded absently as she turned and started prodding people away from them. Once they had some breathing space Kurt turned back to Blaine, starting up a monologue of useless words as he peeled Blaine’s fingers away from his bleeding arms and began to wrap them up with his scarf. 

“You know, none of us ever thought of fighting back. That was brave, trying to get away. We always just accepted it. Let it happen like we had no choice. Maybe if we had been brave enough to fight back things wouldn't have gotten so bad around here.”

He finished one arm and carefully tore the scarf in half, not caring at all that he had just ruined a fifty dollar scarf. Blood was already seeping through the arm he had wrapped up. He wished his father would hurry.

He kept talking as he worked, grateful that everyone had backed off a bit, though he could still hear the adults question Finn about what happened.

“What were they doing to Blaine?”

“How many of them were there?”

“Did they _all_ hurt you, or just some of them?”

Then the most important question, “Who were they?”

Finn listed off four names and Kurt knew them all. Most of them had been on the team last year when he had helped them win their first game. They had all been part of the half-time performance at the championship game. And every single one of them had slushied him or tossed him into a dumpster before.

 _All of this should have ended ages ago_ , Kurt thought bitterly as he slipped his hand into Blaine’s, finally finished bandaging his damaged arms. Blaine just stared at the far wall, completely oblivious to what was going on around him.

“What about Karofsky?” Mr. Schuester asked.

Kurt’s eyes widened and he looked back at the crowd of people, Finn lying on the ground in the middle of them all with the nurse fussing over him. Kurt was honestly surprised when Finn shook his head, but more so by what his brother said next.

“He's the one that told me what they were going to do.”

Kurt only had a moment to be shocked, Finn hadn't told him that part when he had given his hurried explanation in the middle of the boy’s bathroom, before he heard the familiar sound of his dad's truck pulling up behind them.

His dad slammed the door of his truck and immediately rounded on Figgins, and Kurt felt himself begin to relax. His hands tightened around Blaine’s unresponsive ones, a silent reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

“You have one chance to fix this, Figgins,” Burt growled, his face flushed with anger and one large hand pointing angrily at the principle's face. “Or I'm gonna do it _my_ way.”

“We'll take care of it, Burt,” Mr. Schue said, placing a hand on Burt's shoulder, not to calm him but to show support. The look on Schuester's face was just as angry as Burt's. “I promise.”

Everyone stood motionless as the two men looked at each other. Then Burt must have seen whatever he was looking for because he nodded and turned away from Schue and the rest of the teachers to focus on Finn.

“What the hell were you thinking, kid?”

“I had to,” Finn said quickly, trying to rise, but a firm hand on his shoulder pushed him gently back to the ground. “He was so scared and I just...I couldn’t leave him to get help. I...”

“It’s okay, Finn, you did the right thing. I'm just sorry you got hurt because of it.” Burt patted Finn carefully on the shoulder, his eyes glancing over the bandage on his forehead. “Just sit here a minute, alright? We'll get you to the hospital soon. You're mom's already there because she was on shift, and she's worried sick.”

Finally he turned away from Finn and moved over to where Kurt was still kneeling beside Blaine. Kurt moved aside, still clutching one of Blaine’s hands tightly, and looked anxiously at his father.

“You alright?” Burt asked, reaching over briefly to give him a hug.

Kurt nodded and leaned into his father's embrace, needing the familiar strength of him, then turned back to Blaine. “I'm fine. Please, just...”

“We'll take care of him, don't worry.”

Burt took Blaine’s free hand in one of his, reaching out with the other to gently touch Blaine’s cheek, careful not to startle him like last time. He turned Blaine’s face so that he was looking directly at him, but his eyes were still unfocused, his stare vacant, as if he didn't even know or care what was happening around him.

“Blaine,” Burt said gently. “Are you with us, kiddo?”

Blaine’s eyes blinked slowly but they were still empty, frighteningly lifeless, for another moment, two, three. Then their dark depths welled with tears and he turned to Burt with a shaky breath.

“What...?”

“Hey there. You alright?”

He blinked again; Kurt squeezed his hand and earned a glance out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly Blaine’s gaze fell on Finn, still lying prone on the ground, blood on his shirt and his arm in a sling.

“Oh, god.” Blaine started taking in short, sharp breathes, his eyes wide and his hands squeezing tightly.

“Hey, hey, you're alright. You're safe,” Burt assured him and Kurt moved closer, slipped into his space to wrap an arm around his shoulders. Blaine turned to him, pulled his hand out of Kurt’s grasp to wipe at his eyes.

“I tried to stop them,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I tried to scream but...”

“I know. Finn told me.” Kurt threaded his fingers through Blaine’s disheveled hair, the curls stiff with gel and sweat. He hated that Blaine felt so vulnerable, so lost and out of control because of those stupid neanderthals.

“Dad, are they-”

“They'll pay for this, Kurt, I promise,” he father said, large, comforting hands holding them both gently, callused fingers brushing their cheeks, like they were still children, like they're still something so precious and fragile.

“Burt?” Blaine’s voice sounded broken, his eyes kept darting out to where everyone else stood woodenly, pretending not to listen. “Can I...I know you said I couldn't come home every time I had a b-bad day but-”

“Kiddo, I don't think today goes in the same category,” Burt laughed mirthlessly. He stood slowly, reached down to grab Blaine and Kurt by the hands and pull them up too. Kurt stayed close to Blaine, wrapped his arm around the other boy's trembling back and felt the too-quick beat of his heart. “You two go home. Put in a Grey's Anatomy marathon or something. I'm going to bring your brother to the hospital, then we'll all be home later, okay?”

Kurt nodded, steering Blaine towards the front lot where the car was parked, as his father turned his attention back to Finn. _Two steps back_ , Kurt thought. He was starting to wonder if they were even on the right track any more.

*****

Blaine felt like he hadn't stopped shaking in hours. His body was tense with it, the throbbing behind his eyes pulsing with his heartbeat. He was curled up with Kurt in the oversized recliner, switching back and forth from watching the movie on the television to watching Finn, who was laid out on the sofa, Carole fussing at his side.

The other boy had come home from the hospital with his wrist in a cast, his ribs wrapped, and a bag full of pain-killers. His face was a mass of purple and black bruises, and he had limped inside, favoring his left leg where the knee was swollen and wrapped in a brace.

Blaine had never felt guiltier about anything in his life. This was all his fault. If he hadn't been such a coward, if he had just let them take him, if he had-

The door swung open, cutting off Blaine's trail of thought, and Burt walked slowly through the doorway looking exhausted. “Burt, honey?” Carole stood slowly from where she had been sitting on the floor beside Finn and crossed the living room to her husband as he stripped his jacket off and hung it on one of the hooks by the door.

Burt's shoulders were hunched and the lines around his eyes seemed to be etched a little deeper tonight. Blaine sat up in the chair, he and Kurt jostling each other as they both leaned forward to hear what Burt had to say. He had left the house hours ago after settling Finn on the couch and ensuring that Blaine was...well, that he wasn't freaking out again.

'I'll fix this,' he had promised Blaine, a tight grip around his shoulders and conviction in his voice as Blaine had stood pathetically in the middle of the room, completely lost. Blaine had just watched him storm out of the house, nodding dumbly when Kurt had suggested switching from Audrey Hepburn movies to Star Wars for Finn's sake.

Since then they had all been waiting, tension palpable through the room as Carole fussed and tutted over them all and none of them spoke a word except to turn down Carole's offers of food or drinks or _something_ , anything to take the hurt and the fear away.

“Well,” Burt sighed wearily, as he stepped into the room and sat slowly down onto the coffee table so he could look at all of them. The anger that had been on his face since he had arrived at the school was gone, nothing but the tiredness in his eyes now.

“Figgins tried to do his usual back-pedaling, but Schuester and that odd little counselor woman insisted that they had seen those boys hurting Finn, so he caved and promised that all four of them would be expelled.”

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and Blaine finally felt the tension dissolve from his shoulders. Kurt's arm around him tightened.

“But...for real, right?” Finn asked from his place stretched out on the couch. His voice was groggy, words a little slurred. Carole looked down at him, her eyes pained, and ran a comforting hand over his hair. “I mean, they're not just gonna let them back in like they did with Karofsky, right? Cuz they'll just be mad if they come back and they might think it was Blaine's fault and I don't want them to go after him again.”

What _would_ happen if they went after him again, Blaine thought. Would he freak out again? Would someone else get hurt because of him? Would any of this ever just _end_?

“This is bullshit.”

The words came out as a growl, tight and angry, boiling up from deep inside.

He pushed up out of the chair, pulling out of Kurt's grasp as everyone turned to stare at him, confusion on their faces. “Blaine, didn't you hear my dad? They're being expelled.”

“It's not about that!” Kurt jumped at Blaine's sudden shout. “It's about this,” fingers digging into the gauze wrapped around his arms, nails scratching against the tape. “It's about...being afraid all the time. It's about the fact that it happened in the first place because I'm a fucking coward! It's about trying so fucking hard and never getting _anywhere_.”

“Blaine, you just need-”

“Don't tell me I need time! I've _had_ time! I just want it to stop!”

“Blaine-”

“No! Damn it, Kurt, I don't even remember what happened!”

Kurt's brilliant blue eyes flashed stormy with emotion, anger and pain and sorrow all at once, like he couldn't decide on just one. “You remember _enough_ ,” he said, voice strong and sure, as if what he said was the only truth that could exist. “We're not the GOP, Blaine. We're not trying to define what is and isn't rape. Just because you don't remember every single detail in technicolor doesn't mean you don't get to react. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Kurt approached him slowly, as if afraid he would snap, and that just made Blaine angry. He wasn't fragile. He wasn't a child that needed to be coddled and pacified. 

“I knew,” he hissed, words full of derision and self-loathing. Because it was the truth. He had known all along.

“What?”

“I _knew_ something was wrong, Kurt. He was my _teacher_ , and he asked me to go to the movies 3 hours away from the school, alone. Why do you think I didn't tell you? I knew. But I was so fucking desperate to-to please my _father_ that I went anyway. And now my father hates me, and Finn's hurt, and you...you're stuck with this pariah that just won't leave.”

A small voice of reason was shouting at him that he needed to calm down, gain control. He was spiraling quickly and with an audience. Finn and Carole and Burt were all wide-eyed and shocked. The usual confusion and grief playing across all their faces. God he hated this. He hated breaking apart; he hated being this weak but he couldn't stop it. The words were like poison, expelling themselves from his body. It was either that or let them sink in and stay.

“Blaine-”

“I know how exhausting this is for you, Kurt. Always worrying about me, wondering what's going to set me off. Wondering if today is the day I just lose it.”

“Blaine, I don't feel that way. I _love_ you.”

Blaine stopped short, the words suddenly stuck in his throat, a stone lodged deep inside, ready to choke him. His eyes began to burn, filling like floodwaters and causing everything to blur around him, Kurt's wide eyes and flushed skin incandescent through the tears.

“You shouldn't.”

He choked back the sob pushing its way up from deep inside and turned away from Kurt, his best friend, his lifeline, before running to the basement and slamming the door shut. He locked it behind him and stumbled down the stairs. He could hear Kurt running after him up above as he slid to the floor, pushing his hands into his hair and pulling, hard.

Kurt shouldn't love him. No one should love him. His father hated him, his mother had never even cared that he existed, and Grant had only wanted him for sex. There was nothing to love about him at all. He was a screw up, and sooner or later he would ruin this too just like he had ruined everything else.

He could hear Kurt pounding on the door, demanding to be let in, worry lacing his voice. Burt's soft rumble joined in, soothing, placating.

What did they think he was going to do down here? Damn it, what _was_ he doing down here? Hands pulling tightly at his hair, he tried to take a deep breath and couldn't. They were only trying to help. They were only trying to make it better for him, and he was down here throwing a hissy-fit like a three year old.

He had spent his entire life wanting a family like this. Wishing for someone to just love him, unconditionally. He had found that here, with these people who had no obligation to him at all, and yet all he could do was push them away.

_Maybe if they leave you now it won't hurt so much._

Blaine closed his eyes against the words, leaned his head against the cool brick wall. His hands were still in his hair, pulling until his scalp ached. The gouges on his arms were throbbing. And through it all, passed the pain and the nastiness in his head, was the sound of their voices becoming him back upstairs, promising comfort, promising peace.

Blaine stood slowly, shaking hands gripping the banister tightly as he turned to walk back up the stairs.

“Tell him I'm okay!” Finn's slurred shout nearly brought a smile to Blaine's face as he paused in front of the closed basement door, his fingers hovering over the lock.

“Finn, not now,” Kurt hissed, the door still shaking under the pounding of his hands.

“But, Kurt-”

“Not now, Finn!” Kurt snapped at his brother. “Blaine, _please_.”

“Kurt, enough.” Blaine could hear Burt's soft footfalls, listened quietly to the rustle of cloth on the other side of the door. “Let him have some time alone, alright?”

There was a pause and Blaine almost opened the door, almost reached out for Kurt like he had so many times before. Then he heard Kurt’s soft voice, broken open and raw. “But he _needs_ me.”

The truth of it wrapped around Blaine's chest, like a snake squeezing the life out of him, and he pulled away from the door, away from Kurt and Burt and everything that was waiting for him on the other side.


	10. Anger - Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with Dave Karofsky and the matter of the 'kiss' from Never Been Kissed. I know that some people have very different opinions on the matter, and how exactly Dave's actions should be classified. I present two different opinions in this chapter, but I in no way am trying to take sides on the matter, or tell people how they should or shouldn't think about it. I merely tried to represent two differing opinions. If anything I say here about the situation upsets anyone, please feel free to contact me and we can discuss it.

Everything became tense when they returned to school on Monday. The whole school was practically vibrating with it; four people can't get expelled for beating up another student without everyone hearing about it, especially at McKinley.

Because of it they all walked the halls in a tight knot, Finn, Kurt, and Blaine at the center, surrounded by at least a half dozen members of New Directions at all times, like they were a force field that could keep the ugly world at bay, keep them from getting hurt again. It was entirely unnecessary, however. It was obvious that everyone in the school knew what happened, because everyone was giving them a wide berth, scrabbling out of their way and refusing to make eye contact, like they were lepers, walking the halls with bells on their feet.

While they were at school Blaine kept close to Kurt's side, clutching Kurt's hand in a vise-like grip and sending Finn guilty looks whenever he caught sight of his cast or the fading bruises on his face. His hand trembled in Kurt's whenever they reached the door of his AP math class, fingers peeling away from Kurt's slightly numb ones as they parted from each other.

It was like they had gone all the way back to the beginning, back to when Blaine was frightened all the time, when he shivered under every unwelcome touch and wouldn't meet people’s eyes, trying to stay invisible, as if that was all that would keep him safe.

But whenever they were at home, away from the stares and the whispers, the press of bodies and the loud din of voices shouting through the halls, Blaine would distance himself from Kurt, sitting on the other side of the living room when they watched television or doing his homework in the kitchen instead of down in their room like they always had before.

The only time they were together at home was when they would finally crawl into bed late at night, wrapped up in the same blankets but somehow still so far apart.

Kurt felt like he was walking on eggshells. All he wanted to do was reach out and take Blaine into his arms and never let go, or maybe just shake him, shout at him that it wasn't his fault. Instead he stayed close, ignoring Blaine's sour looks and stiff shoulders, just being there in the hope that Blaine will reach back out to him.

*

“But why are you even going, Finn? You're still all hopped up on painkillers and your cast doesn't come off for six weeks. It's not like you can even play.”

Finn wanted to go to the Saturday practice that Coach Beiste held each week, to keep the team in shape for next year. It wasn't required because it was the off season, but it was a good idea to go if you intended on getting a first string spot in the Fall.

“Yeah, but I can still learn the plays and stuff. I've gotta keep up with everyone else or I'll never make the team next year. Please, Kurt?”

Kurt bit back a sigh and noted the page in his magazine before closing it with a snap. Two weeks ago he would have just given his keys to Finn and told him to be careful and not eat anything in the car. But the cast on Finn's arm made that impossible now, and the puppy-dog eyes his brother was aiming at him just couldn't be ignored.

“Just...let me check my hair first,” Kurt said, unfolding himself from his place in his dad's recliner. “Can you go get Blaine?”

“He doesn't want to go.”

Finn's words stopped Kurt short halfway out of the chair. He hovered there for a moment before carefully sitting back down. “I'm sorry, what?”

Finn looked confused at Kurt's reaction, wide shoulders shrugging noncommittally. “He said he didn't want to go. I told him earlier and he said he'd rather stay home. I mean...can you blame him?”

And the thing was that Kurt couldn't, not at all. Blaine had spent the last week flinching at every flash of red and white that passed by their group in the halls. He hadn't been that skittish in months and it made Kurt want to track down all of those wool and leather monstrosities and burn them. The last thing Blaine would want to do on a Saturday was spend the day surrounded by jocks, even if half of them were members of New Directions. But still...

“Did...did you tell him I was driving you?”

Finn just shrugged again, eyes glancing toward the door, anxious to be going. “No, but he had to have known. I mean, Mom and Burt are both working so who else would it be?”

“Yeah...” Kurt bit his lip, not moving from his spot as he looked across the room to the closed basement door.

“Okay...well, dude, will you take me?”

Kurt shook his head quickly, trying to clear his thoughts, and stood abruptly. “Yeah. Yes, just...go to the car. Give me a moment.”

Finn huffed impatiently and headed out the door, grabbing his backpack as he went and slinging it carefully across his shoulder. Kurt just stood in his spot for a moment, wanting desperately to run down the stairs and shake Blaine, demand to know what he was thinking. He didn't like this distance, this disconnect between them. He didn't want to leave Blaine behind.

Kurt took a few steps toward the basement, but he stopped half-way, hands clenching into fists at his sides. He turned abruptly on his heel and walked back to the recliner, grabbing his satchel before marching purposefully to the front door. If Blaine needed space he could give him that. If this was what Blaine wanted then he would have to accept that. Even if it killed him to walk away.

*

“Dude, you're like Siamese twins that have been separated. It's a miracle.”

Kurt rolled his eyes and set down the magazine he had been listlessly paging through. “It's 'conjoined twins', Puck. 'Siamese twins' is offensive.”

“Like I care.”

“And besides,” Kurt said, shifting uncomfortably on the metal bleachers. It was hot out today, spring trying to break its way into summer already, and Kurt was regretting the knit sweater he had pulled on that morning as Blaine had locked himself in the bathroom without a word.

“Blaine is his own person. He can stay at home if he wants to. Frankly, I don't want to be here either, but I could hardly tell Finn no after what he did.”

“Yeah, that was pretty awesome,” Puck said, something like respect in his voice. “Stupid, but awesome.” Kurt nodded in agreement.

For a minute neither of them said anything more, then Puck asked quietly, like he was afraid someone might hear, “How's Blaine?”

Kurt wanted to smile, Puck tried so hard to be a badass but really he had one of the biggest hearts Kurt had ever seen; at least, now that he wasn't tossing people into dumpsters. But the thought of Blaine just made Kurt feel worried again and he frowned. “He's...coping,” he said. Puck didn't respond, as if just asking had put him over the acceptable limit of caring, and they lapsed into silence again.

Practice was nearly over now, most of the boys wandering off toward the showers or picking up equipment. Finn was off to the side of the field with Coach Beiste, going over one of the playbooks. Finn was talking animatedly, gesturing at the book, and Beiste was listening intently. The look she had given Finn when he had limped out onto the field at the start of practice had been one of immense pride.

Artie had joined Kurt and Puck at the bleachers and Mike was jogging over from where he had been catching throws from one of the other players. Kurt thought about inviting them all over to the house. He could call the girls and have an impromptu barbeque or something. Maybe seeing their friends outside of school would help pull Blaine out of his funk.

Before he had a chance to say anything he caught sight of a hunched over figure, weighted down by the heavy gear bag over his shoulder, heading toward the equipment room.

“Yeah, no, that's great,” he said in response to whatever Artie had been talking about, before grabbing his satchel and taking off toward the disappearing figure. He got there just as Karofsky was turning to leave the room, and they nearly collided with each other. Karofsky backed off immediately, muttering an apology as he tried to step around Kurt.

“Wait. Please, wait.” Kurt put out a hand to stop him, but didn't quite touch him, his hand hovering over the other boy's arm. Karofsky paused, stepping back and crossing his arms in front of himself, not quite meeting Kurt's eyes.

“What do you want, Kurt?”

His tone may have been short, but it was the first time Kurt could remember Karofsky ever calling him by his first name, instead of an insult or a derisive 'Hummel'. It almost made him smile.

In the three months since his and Blaine's transfer Karofsky had kept his distance, not speaking to them, hardly being in the same room as them if he could help it. But Kurt had also seen when the other boy would put out a hand to stop the other jocks from getting too close to them in the hall, or stare down his teammates if they started to say anything in the showers.

It was passive, under the radar, but for whatever reason David had been protecting them from the school bullies just as much as the members of New Directions did. Kurt wasn't sure what was going on and now, after what had happened last week, he wanted some answers.

“Why did you go get Finn on Thursday, when you found out what they were going to do to Blaine?”

“No offense, Hummel, but I didn't really think you would be much help.”

Ignoring the obvious attempt at deflection Kurt pressed on. “I mean, why didn't you just walk away?”

David sighed and shifted nervously, looking around as if to ensure no one was watching. But the room was deserted except for the two of them and Kurt wasn't going to let him get away so easily.

“David?”

“I just...” The other boy ran a hand over his head, eyes looking everywhere but at Kurt. “I know something's wrong with him. Everyone can see he's messed up, and I just...whatever happened to him...he shouldn't have to go through that shit too. I...”

Kurt watched in confusion and a little awe as David's face seemed to crumble, his mouth twisting up and his eyes closing briefly. This was a boy that Kurt didn't know at all, vulnerable and bare, no neanderthal facade or encompassing anger.

“I'm so...I'm so fucking sorry, Kurt,” David said, his voice cracking as he said Kurt's name. “I'm just...so sorry for what I did to you.”

Kurt felt something inside him shift; the anger and resentment over what Karofsky had done ebbed just a little when he saw the tears shining in David's eyes.

“I know,” he said gently, realizing as the words came out that they were completely true. He believed that David felt truly sorry about what he had done, and that in his own hidden, fearful way had been trying for months to make up for it. By protecting Blaine he had been trying to apologize to Kurt.

“I know,” Kurt said again with a little more conviction. He wanted David to know that he believed him and that he accepted his apology. Even if he couldn't forgive him, maybe never would, not completely, he at least believed that David was trying, and that was more than he ever thought he would get.

David nodded and ran a hand over his face, wiping away the trace of tears and unmanly emotion. “Cool,” he said, stepping around Kurt and reaching for the door. He paused then and turned back to Kurt, looking him in the eye for the first time since the conversation began. “Thanks. I...thanks.”

With that he left, letting the door slam shut behind him. Kurt stayed there for a while, both because he didn't want to be seen coming out of the equipment room alone with David Karofsky, and also because he needed a moment to think.

When he finally walked back to the bleachers and Finn informed him that he had accidentally agreed to go to the arcade with the guys he didn't even protest. Today had turned out a hell of a lot better than he thought it would.

*****

Blaine couldn't believe what he was hearing. Kurt was sitting on their bed, the smile on his face soft and genuine as he told Blaine about what had happened at Finn's practice that day. It broke Blaine's heart.

He had spent the first two hours Kurt was gone holed up in their room, lying on their bed shaking, adrenaline and fear working through his body in waves. His hand had clutched his phone tightly the entire time, skin turning white with the pressure, wanting to call Kurt, to beg him to come home, and angry at himself for it.

He was just on the other side of town. Burt was three miles away at the garage. Blaine should be able to be alone in the house for a few hours without falling apart. But then the two hour practice had turned into three, and then four.

Kurt had called at one point but Blaine had been so infuriated with himself for _needing_ so badly to answer, to hear Kurt's voice and know that he was there, that he would be back, that Blaine's stupid, childish decision to stay home out of spite hadn't pushed Kurt away, he hadn't picked up. He just let it run to voicemail, staring at the picture on his screen, Kurt sleepy-eyed and ruffled, sheet marks on his face.

A few minutes after the call he had received a text, ' _going out with the guys_ '. Maybe Kurt was angry too. Maybe he had gone out on purpose, left Blaine behind to show him that Kurt was just fine on his own, that it was Blaine that needed _him_ , and he should remember that.

 _You're being petty_ , his mind had hissed at him, as he had stood on shaky legs and stumbled up to the kitchen to root aimlessly through the cupboards. He hadn't eaten at all that day, but looking at the food just made his stomach roil.

Kurt hadn't gone out to teach him a lesson, he had gone out because he had friends other than Blaine. He probably missed his friends, probably missed feeling normal instead of like he was a nursemaid to an unstable time bomb.

It hadn't made the subsequent hours any easier to bear though. Burt had come home just after Blaine got the text, knocking on Blaine's door but not pressing when he didn't answer. Carole had called down that dinner was ready a few hours later, but had also left him alone when she got no reply.

Nearly eight hours after Kurt and Finn had left Blaine could finally hear Finn's elephantine footsteps upstairs in the kitchen, cupboards opening and closing and Kurt yelling at Finn that he had just eaten how could he possibly be hungry again. Blaine had tried to look nonchalant as Kurt had glided down the stairs, a smile on his face like Blaine hadn't seen in months. He didn't want Kurt to think that he had spent every moment of the past hours waiting, his nerves working him into exhaustion as he tried to pretend that he was alright.

Kurt's cordial greeting and lack of any attempt to touch Blaine, a hug, a hand on the shoulder, a touch to his hair, had just worked Blaine up even more, to the point where he felt brittle, strung tight and ready to snap like a guitar string tuned too far.

And now he was hearing this. These impossible words coming out of Kurt's mouth, about Karofsky and a new start. How could he say that? How could he ever forgive him after what he had done? People like that didn't deserve forgiveness.

“He's sorry, Blaine, genuinely sorry,” Kurt was saying, a soft smile on his face; a look of hope. “And I think...”

Blaine took in a deep breath, trying to steady himself, to just _listen_ , and he felt everything snap. “You think _what_?” he hissed, hands coiling at his sides and breath suddenly coming in short, angry bursts. This wasn't right. This wasn't _fair_. “That-that it makes it all okay?” he ground out between clenched teeth. “That him running you out of the school, terrorizing you, _molesting_ you is all okay because he's _sorry_?”

The look on Kurt's face was one of utter surprise, like he hadn't been expecting Blaine's anger at all, like he didn't understand. “He...he didn't _molest_ me, Blaine. He kissed me,” he said, his eyes narrowing in confusion. “It's not that big of a deal. I mean, if Puck just randomly kissed me in a locker room I wouldn't care. I'd be confused, but I wouldn't care.”

Blaine felt sick. Kurt couldn't be saying this, he just couldn't. 

“Why are you making excuses for him?” Blaine demanded, his body nearly vibrating with anger. “Kurt, you were _terrified_ when you called me after it happened. Don't think I forgot, even though obviously you have. What he did was wrong and sick and he shouldn't be allowed anywhere near you. Why are you-”

Kurt was shaking his head, standing abruptly from the bed and walking across the room, busying himself with rearranging the lotions and other bottles on his vanity. “Blaine, he's changed,” he said earnestly, looking into the mirror and not at Blaine, as if he was trying to convince _himself_ that it was true. “You know he has. He hasn't come anywhere near me, or you, since we transferred. He helped you when he didn't have to. He's changed and he's sorry.”

Blaine wanted to scream, or maybe cry. Kurt's words hurt, in a way Blaine couldn't explain. “ _Sorry_?” he growled, his voice raw and broken open. “Oh, so...so if G-Grant came up to me tomorrow and said 'hey, I haven't h-hurt you in a few months and I'm really s-sorry' then I should just...just _forgive_ him?”

He was stuttering, words spilling angrily out of his mouth and his fisted hands were shaking at his sides. He had never felt so betrayed before. After everything they had been through together, all the shared hurt and pain, the late nights spent talking on the phone with Kurt nearly in tears, and now Kurt was acting like it had never even happened. Like he hadn't been through hell and back because of that boy. All because he had said _sorry_.

“Blaine, I'm not...” Kurt sighed, his voice long-suffering, _tired_. “It's not the same thing.”

Blaine huffed out a humorless laugh, the sound brittle to his own ears. “Yeah, you're right. Karofsky never had a chance to...to r-rape you because you got out of there before he could.”

“Blaine, he _stopped_ ,” Kurt insisted, eyes wide and pleading. “When I pushed him away he stopped. He wouldn't have-”

“He terrified you!” Blaine shouted, trying desperately to get through to Kurt, to make him see how ridiculous he was being, how stupid. He felt like his whole body was vibrating, the anger and exhaustion and fear, fear for Kurt and what he was doing, what he was setting himself up for, trying to shake themselves loose to come spilling out into the room in waves. It was filling him up and he couldn't stop it, couldn't hold it back. “He _hurt_ you! He-”

“Damn it, Blaine, he's not Grant!”

Blaine just blinked in response, angry and confused. This wasn't about Grant. This was about Kurt, and Karofsky, and Kurt being too naive and too kind for his own good.

“I'm sorry you were hurt,” Kurt said, his voice low and quite, sad. “I'm so fucking sorry that all of this happened to you. If I could take it all away, if I could go back in time and change what happened, stop you from going, _warn_ you about him, I would. But Dave is not Grant and you can't just...you can't do this, Blaine. You can't project your feelings about Grant onto Dave, it's not fair.”

“Oh, yeah, because what I'm really worried about right now is being fair to the person who terrorized and assaulted you.”

“He didn't assault me, it was just a kiss!” Kurt growled, the frustration clear in his voice, in the creased lines on his face. 

“You're not looking at it clearly-”

“No, Blaine, _you're_ not looking at it clearly. You're letting your issues with Grant-”

“My _issues_?” Kurt's words felt like a slap to the face and Blaine all but stumbled back, his throat closing up tight as tears sprang to his eyes. It would have been less painful if Kurt had wrapped his hand around Blaine's heart and squeezed. To take everything that had happened and boil it down to one simple word, like everything Blaine had gone through over the last three months was little more than teenage angst, something to be swept up and tossed aside because it was all just so simple.

Kurt's eyes widened almost immediately, shock at himself written across his face, and his shoulders fell, his whole body caving in at the realization of what he said. _At least he had the decency to look ashamed_ , Blaine thought. It didn't make it better.

“That's not what I meant,” Kurt said guilty. 

“No,” Blaine whispered, trying to speak past the lump in his throat. “That's exactly what you meant. You think that-that I should just _get over it_ like you did. You think-”

“I don't think you should just get over it,” Kurt reached out and grabbed Blaine's arm, trying to pull him back, to make him listen, but Blaine just jerked out of his grasp, retreating to the other side of the room. He needed to be away from Kurt right now. He needed to be away from _everything_.

Kurt sighed heavily but didn't try to follow Blaine. The look in his eyes was a mixture of exhaustion and sadness and Blaine hated him for it. He didn't want to feel sorry for Kurt. “I think you need to _deal_ with it,” Kurt insisted, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, like he wanted to reach out for Blaine again but was forcing himself not to. “Like _I_ did. I dealt with my problems, Blaine. And I-”

“You ran away,” Blaine hissed, knowing that it was vindictive and petty but unable to stop himself. _So did you_ , the little voice in the back of his head whispered. It's all you've ever done. You're a coward.

Kurt shook his head and sat down slowly on the bed, eyes closing briefly. “I _dealt_ with it,” he said again. “You helped me deal with it, and if you would just...let me help you too. Please, Blaine. I just want to help you.”

Kurt's voice was soft, calming, and some part of Blaine wanted to give in, to stop arguing and just sit down beside Kurt and let him hold him, let him take away all of today and just start over. But he wasn't ready for that. He didn't want to pretend like this was just another fight, just another one of 'Blaine's bad days'. 

“What do you want from me?” Blaine sneered.

“I want you to talk about it, Blaine,” Kurt sighed, hands thrown up in the air in frustration. “You _never_ talk about it. You act like if you ignore it for long enough it'll go away, but it won't. It won't, Blaine, and keeping it all locked up inside will kill you!”

As if he didn't know that. As if he couldn't feel it eating away inside him every single day. But he couldn't. He couldn't talk to anyone about this, especially not Kurt. How could he ever look him in the eye again, knowing that he knew? He opened his mouth to tell Kurt that, to try and make him understand, but what came out instead was something completely different. Something nasty and hateful and malicious.

“You want me to talk, Kurt?” he hissed, voice shaking with the words as Kurt just stared at him, all wide eyes and broken heart written across his face. “You want all the sordid details, is that what you want? Do you want to hear about how he touched me, how he _fucked_ me? How badly it hurt but I couldn't even scream because my head was too fucked up? Is that what you want to hear?”

“No! God, Blaine, stop,” Kurt begged. Blaine felt a vindictive sort of thrill when Kurt's face crumpled and his eyes filled with tears. A part of him, a dark, angry part deep inside, wanted Kurt to hurt too.

“You said you wanted me to talk! Now I'm talking and you want me to shut up? You can't have it both ways.”

“I don't want details!” Kurt shouted. “I don't want to know what he did to you, I never want to know because it breaks my heart just thinking about it, but you can't just-”

“Can't what, Kurt? What can't I do?”

“You need _help_ , Blaine. You're not getting better. You're angry all the time and when you're not angry you're sad. I just want...” Kurt walked across the room quickly, grabbing both of Blaine's hands in his own and holding them tightly. “I want _you_ back. I want you to be you again.”

The look in Kurt's eyes was so desperate, so raw and open like he was bleeding out in front of Blaine. But Blaine couldn't stop it, couldn't close up the wound for him because he had too many of his own. There was too much blood between them; he felt like he was drowning in it.

“Well sorry to disappoint you,” Blaine whispered, yanking his hands out of Kurt's grasp. “But this is all I am now. I'm sorry that's not good enough for you.”

*****

“Blaine...”

Blaine turned his back to Kurt, walking to the dresser and yanking some pajamas out before stalking off to the bathroom. Kurt sighed heavily and sank down onto the bed, running his hands over his face in exhaustion. He was starting to forget what it was like to not feel this way, to feel _normal_.

Long minutes passed. Kurt could hear the sound of the toilet flushing, the sink running. Blaine was taking his time and Kurt was grateful. It gave him time to think about what he wanted to say when Blaine came back out.

He hadn't been lying when he told Blaine last week that he loved him. He loved him completely, in every sense of the word. He loved the boy he had met that first day when he had snuck into Dalton, he loved the boy he had sung with in a deserted common room at Christmas time, while the fire burned and the rest of the world seemed to fade away. He loved the boy he had found lying on a hospital bed the day their lives had been turned upside down and he loved the boy standing in the bathroom right now, avoiding the conversation they still needed to have.

It was because of that love that he just wanted to help. He knew that things could never go back to the way they were before; no matter how much they wished it they could never wipe the slate clean, never start over again. But Kurt had to believe that it could get better than this. Better than the nightmares and the anger and the sadness. 

He had to believe that, because they couldn't keep going on this way forever.

When the door finally opened and Blaine walked slowly out his eyes were shadowed and red-rimmed. Kurt stood immediately and moved to pull him into a hug, to apologize and promise him that he loved him, just as he is, always. But when he reached out for him, Blaine skirted passed his hands, shoulders hunching and his mouth pulling down in a scowl.

“Don't,” he hissed, his eyes snapping in anger as he moved out of arm's reach.

“Blaine...Blaine?”

Kurt had expected him to walk over to their bed, to close himself off beneath the blankets and spend another sleepless night, backs to each other, separated by a foot of space and wanting so desperately to reach out to each other but neither of them willing to make the first move. Instead Blaine moved over to the other side of the room, pulling the blankets back on the bed that had only ever been used once; when Blaine had been sick, but Kurt had still slept beside him, holding him tight while sadness and fever had made his body shake.

When Blaine slipped beneath the covers and turned his back to Kurt, Kurt felt his throat close up and his chest tighten. His heart started pounding a staccato rhythm, and he felt tears well up, hot and painful, in his eyes.

He wanted to cry and scream and fight some more, because all of that was better than _this_. Better than Blaine with his back to him and more cut off than he'd ever been. Instead he walked slowly over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of his own pajamas. He changed and brushed his teeth and went through all the steps of his moisturizing routine just like always, then he turned off the light and got into his bed.

Kurt didn't even try to sleep. The bed felt too empty, too cold. It had only been a few months, but he was so used to feeling Blaine beside him, listening to his breath and feeling the gentle pounding of his heartbeat beneath his fingers or against his chest that losing those things was like trying to sleep in a strange bed in a strange house.

Listening to Blaine toss and turn on the other side of the room, Kurt felt more lonely than he had since before Blaine had come into his life, back when it was just him against the world. He felt tears building up in his eyes again and he closed them tight, holding back the sob that wanted to punch its way out of his chest. How did they let it get this far?

Hours later he was still awake, watching the numbers on the clock turn and waiting sullenly for morning, when he heard the first soft, heartbreaking whimper from across the room. It was like a knife slicing through his chest and straight to his heart and he up in an instant, throwing the blankets aside and feet hitting the cold floor as another whimper came from the other bed.

The sheets rustled and Kurt could just barely see movement in the dim light of the moon. One of Blaine's feet kicked out and hit the wall with a dull thud and Kurt winced. The nights when he reacted physically were always the worst.

Kurt hesitated, glanced up the stairs and wondered briefly if he should go get his dad. But Blaine cried out in his sleep then, a soft noise that broke Kurt's heart, so instead of retreating upstairs for backup he knelt slowly on the edge of the bed and reached out to brush a careful hand across Blaine's shoulder.

The muscle beneath his hand tensed, Blaine's body stiffening automatically, his back arching away from where Kurt was kneeling. Kurt hushed him, whispering soothing noises as he rubbed his hand over Blaine's back.

One of Blaine's hands came up, shooting out of the blanket and lashing out blindly in Kurt's direction. Kurt reached out quickly, used to this by now, and caught Blaine's hand, holding it tightly in one of his own. After a few weak tugs Blaine took in a deep breath and finally stilled.

He didn't wake, his eyes still tightly closed and his body tense beneath Kurt's hands, but the whimpers stopped and he slowly sunk back onto the bed. With his hand still holding tightly to Blaine's Kurt moved carefully until he was lying beside him on the bed, as close as he dared while Blaine was still asleep and dreaming.

He started to hum softly, a song they had been learning in Glee, and his thumb rubbed gently back and forth across Blaine's hand. As Kurt was nearing the end of the song Blaine began to stir, twisting slightly to face him.

“Kurt?” Bright eyes blinked open in the darkness, reflecting the light from the windows.

“Shh, I'm here,” Kurt whispered, holding on tighter, one hand soothing gently over Blaine's shoulder and arm. “Go back to sleep. It's okay.”

Blaine's body settled again, the tension slowly easing as he laid his head on the pillow next to Kurt's. Trembling hands wrapped around Kurt's own, and Kurt could hear the faint hitching of Blaine's breath as he tried to relax.

Moments passed in silence, the two of them just breathing and holding on to each other tightly. It was a well-known routine. Finally Kurt heard, so soft he almost missed it, “Don't go.”

Kurt moved closer, pressing his body all along Blaine's, one arm wrapping around his chest and tucking him in tightly. He kissed his shoulder, his hair, the nape of his neck, and promised, “I won't.”

*****

_Blaine knows this place. He had barely been aware half the time he was here, but there are things about it that are stuck in his mind. The pale, white-washed walls, the generic pictures of forests and flowers pretending at being cheerful, the acidic, too-clean smell that doesn't quite cover up the taint of sickness and disease._

_People pass him as he walks, figures in green and blue scrubs, some in the navy blue of a police uniform. They have no faces, just shapeless forms where their faces should be. Every now and then one of them will stop him as he walks, gesturing wildly but he doesn't know what they want, they have no words, so he just moves on. He's going somewhere, following a path he seems to remember, but he's not sure where it's taking him, where he'll end up._

_There's a song playing through the sound system, distorted and mournful. Misplaced, like it doesn't belong here. It makes his skin crawl._

_He rounds another corner, brushing passed a faceless nurse all in white, and sees two more people. They have faces. One older, tired and sad and achingly familiar. The other face is haggard, not as clear, features smudged like a painting touched before it was dry._

_They are Burt and Detective Choi. They're standing in front of a door, the only one in this hallway, big and dark and ugly. They're not speaking, just standing side by side, watching the door as if they stare long enough it will give up whatever it is they're looking for. They don't see him, and when he tries to speak, get their attention, nothing comes out._

_He reaches out to touch Burt's shoulder, to try and make him turn and look at him, see him, when a shout comes from behind him. It's the first sound he's heard other than that awful music since he came to this place. It's a voice, a voice like a song that covers up the dirge in the speakers, and he turns, sees another figure running down the hall, calling out to the two people standing behind him._

_Kurt slows to a stop in front of them and Blaine chokes back a gasp. His face is the most beautiful thing Blaine has ever seen. His blue eyes are wide and bright, his skin pale, perfect porcelain, and his pink, bow-shaped mouth is pulled down in a frown._

_Blaine reaches out for him but his hand won't reach, like Kurt is too far away even though he's right there. “Where is he? Is he okay?” Kurt speaks again, covering up the sound of the horrible music, and Blaine remembers this too. Remembers Kurt's frantic words, but he doesn't remember the look on his face, knows, somehow, that his mind is filling in the sorrow, the panic. It's just how his voice sounds, sad and afraid._

_Burt turns to his son, mouth moving but no words coming out. What did Burt say? Why can't Blaine remember?_

_“Where is he?” Kurt asks again, calmer now, his shoulders squaring and his jaw clenched tight._

_Burt and Detective Choi both point toward the door and Kurt turns, pushing through. Blaine barely has time to slip inside before it closes behind him with a bang._

_There is a figure on the bed, small and still, wrapped in a blanket of soft blue plaid. Kurt sits on the bed beside the figure, places a delicate, pale hand on its shoulder._

_“Blaine? Honey?”_

_The familiarity of Kurt's words makes Blaine ache. He wants so desperately to touch him, to reach out and let Kurt hold him close, but he can't; not yet._

_The figure moves, turns to look at Kurt and it has no face. Blaine doesn't know this person._

_There are bruises around the person's neck, around the thin, pale wrists that wrap around Kurt's body, holding on so tightly it looks like it hurts. But Kurt doesn't even flinch, just pulls him in tighter, holds him closer._

_Blaine walks over to where they sit together, tries to hear the words Kurt is saying, but the music has become so loud he can't hear anything else. It's blaring through the room, so loud it almost hurts and he wants to shout at it to stop, just stop, let me hear him._

_“Kurt,” he tries to say, as the figure shakes in Kurt's arms. He wants Kurt to look at him, to reach back out for him, to tell him it's going to be okay._

_Something nudges at the back of Blaine's mind, tells him he knows what's happening, he just needs to remember. He feels the press of Kurt's arms around his shoulders, a phantom touch, feels tears slide down his cheeks._

_He moves closer still, looks into Kurt's broken, beautiful face and watches his lips move. He keeps saying the same thing over and over, the same words whispered into the ears of the figure holding him tight like he doesn't know how to let go. Blaine looks up at Kurt again, reaches out to brush the words on his lips and he finally gets it._

_Suddenly the music stops and Blaine can hear him, words crystal clear and so painful it feels like a knife to the gut._

_“I love you.”_

_Blaine blinks, chokes back a sob and suddenly the figure is gone and Blaine has taken its place. Kurt's arms wrap tightly around him, Blaine can feel the strength in them and he burrows into it, starts to cry as the words repeat, over and over above his head, Kurt's voice like a nightingale singing in the darkness. I love you._

*

Blaine came slowly back to awareness, blinking against the light that was streaming in through the windows high up on the wall. It was morning, well passed dawn, and Kurt was snug up against Blaine's back, arms wrapped around him from behind.

Blaine remembered the fight, about Karofsky and Grant. About Blaine himself and how he was broken and wouldn't let anyone help him put the pieces back together.

And Blaine remembered the dreams. The one that had beckoned Kurt into his bed, even after all the angry things Blaine had thrown at him the night before, the accusations and the lies. Still there, always there, to chase the demons away.

He also remembered the other dream, remembered the hospital and Kurt and what he had said. He hadn't been able to before, the memories all jumbled up with pain and drugs and the desire to just _forget_ everything about that day, the night before.

That had been the first time Kurt had ever said those words. _I love you_. So sure and determined, repeating them over and over, determined to make Blaine _know_. Even broken and ruined as he had been Kurt had still loved him then and he still loved him now.

Blaine turned in Kurt's arms, careful not to wake him so that he could just...watch. He's as beautiful in his sleep as he ever was awake. His perfect hair and perfect clothes and perfect look of arrogance are all gone, and it's like Blaine was looking at the truth of him. Open and bare, only for him.

Blaine traced the bow of his slack lips, heard the echo of his words in the back of his mind. _I love you_. It made Blaine smile, a feeling that was almost foreign to him now.

The touch to Kurt's lips must have woken him because his eyes opened slowly, groggy and dull with sleep. But they brightened when he saw Blaine, his own hand coming out to brush Blaine's face, thumb tracing the edge of his smile before brushing over one cheekbone.

Blaine leaned into the touch, eyes closing at the familiar warmth. There were times when he thought he knew Kurt's hands better than his own.

There were a thousand things running through his head, things he needed to say to Kurt, I'm sorry and I understand now and I love you too. But they wouldn't come out, still all tangled up in bad dreams and half formed memories.

“Do you remember that panic attack I had, just after Regionals?” he said instead, reaching up to grasp Kurt's hand, drawing it away from his face and tangling their fingers together.

Kurt nodded carefully, moving a little closer in the half-morning light. Shadows traced patterns across his skin and Blaine breathed him in, sinking into the warmth of the cocoon they had created in the night. “The one in the car?” Kurt asked, voice soft and still a little sleepy. “The one we couldn't figure out why it happened?”

“Yeah.” Blaine sighed and turned over onto his back, hand still tangled with Kurt's. He couldn't look at him, even now. He couldn't look into Kurt's eyes while he said this, but he knew that he could at least say it now.

“It...it was the song. On the radio.” Normally they would listen to Kurt's iPod, a carefully selected playlist designed around whatever mood Kurt happened to be in when he woke up. But that day he had forgotten it at home, and so they had flipped on the local top forty radio station. Halfway to school Blaine had started hyperventilating, and by the time Kurt had pulled over he was in a full blown panic attack, Kurt trying to comfort him across the gear shift and Finn watching worriedly from the back.

He hadn't known then what had set it off, only known that it had been the start of another string of bad days, nightmares and a tension around the house that came and went in waves. But the distorted, misplaced music from his dream made it make sense.

“It...the song...he turned the radio on in the hotel. I think to cover up...whatever. But it was...I was so screwed up I couldn't...I had no idea what was going on...but I recognized that song. I don't...”

The words got stuck in his throat then, too much all at once, and he couldn't say anything more. Didn't have much more than that, it was still all just pieces, too far apart to make a whole picture.

Kurt just nodded again, moved in a little closer so that Blaine could feel the warmth of his skin, and slipped one ankle over Blaine's, tangling their feet together. Blaine felt fingers at his temple, brushing at the corner of his eye and he realized that his skin was wet, tears slipping steadily down into his hair.

“Thank you,” Kurt whispered. Blaine turned until their foreheads touched and just breathed.


	11. Acceptance

The room was nice. Two double beds, big screen tv, and a mini-fridge they'd been given strict orders not to touch. They did little more than drop their bags off before they passed through the adjoining door that led to the room most of the girls we sleeping in.

Blaine, Kurt, Mercedes, and Rachel were sharing one room, the rest of the girls had another, and the boys and Mr. Schue were all taking up the third. Burt had helped them pay for the additional room, after they had returned home from school, all three of them proudly showing off their plane tickets that Mr. Schue had passed out during practice.

Blaine had thought he would be driving in with Burt and Carole. They couldn't afford the time off work, especially after paying for the third room, so they were leaving early on the day of the competition and driving there, heading back right after the winners were announced. Blaine had assumed he would be going with the adults since he wasn't a part of the club, just a hanger on that watched them practice every day while he waited for Kurt.

When Mr. Schue had given him his ticket he had been confused.

' _But...I'm not part of the team_.' A plane ticket to New York cost a lot of money. He knew how hard they had worked to raise the funds, he had been to all the bake sales and poorly attended concerts with them after all.

It had been Puck who had explained, pulling Blaine into a headlock and mussing his hair quickly before Kurt intervened. ' _You're, like, our tiny little mascot, dude. We couldn't leave you behind._ '

So here he was, in New York itself, staring out the window at the vast city with a blank notebook in his hand, trying to come up with inspiration for a song that wasn't about plastic-wear. When Puck finally exclaimed that enough was enough and they were all racing for the elevators to take them into the city itself Blaine felt happier than he had in months.

He had his friends all around him and Kurt at his side. They were in one of the most beautiful and inspiring cities in the world. Things were good. Great even. He couldn't even be bothered to worry about the past, about Grant and Dalton and his family. This was everything he needed right here.

*****

Kurt had gone to bed feeling elated. They were in New York city. They had spent the day touring the city together, seeing all its beauty and majesty, and then the night had been just them together, all of New Directions, like one big happy family. It was perfect.

The next morning he woke to the feeling of Blaine's hand wrapped tightly in his pajama shirt, pulling the materiel taut across his chest. He could feel Blaine trembling beside him, hear the tell-tale hitch in his breath, the small sniffle he tried to hide. Kurt turned toward him and immediately wrapped his arms around Blaine, pulling him in close.

Blaine tucked his head under Kurt's chin, burying his nose against his throat. Kurt could feel hot tears hitting his skin and sliding down into the collar of his shirt. He pulled Blaine a little closer and kissed the top of his head, letting Blaine work through this how he needed to.

After a few minutes the shaking had stopped and Blaine took a deep breath, nuzzling puppy-like into Kurt's chest before pulling back enough that they could see each other in the dim light from the bedside table that had been left on.

“Nightmare?” Kurt asked, one hand sliding into Blaine's curls, twisting the dark strands around his fingers.

Blaine nodded, uncurling his hand from Kurt's shirt so that he could wipe the remainder of the tears from his face. “I thought I'd have one. I mean...the last time I woke up in a hotel...”

Kurt let out a deep breath and nodded in understanding, trying not to picture what it was like for Blaine on that cold winter morning so many months ago, waking up in that room.

“You must have been so scared,” he whispered, his fingers stroking absently at Blaine's face, tracing over his eyebrows and brushing across his cheekbones, memorizing him even though he already knew him so well.

“I was,” Blaine admitted, turning his face into Kurt's roving hand. “I...I was all alone. I didn't know what had happened, or why. I didn't know what to do. But...I'm not alone this time.”

Kurt smiled and leaned forward to place a soft kiss to Blaine's cheek. His heart stuttered when Blaine turned his head ever so slightly, Kurt's lips sliding over his skin until they were brushing the very corner of Blaine's mouth. It was as close as they had come to a kiss, Kurt hadn't even tried since Prom night, wanting to let Blaine move things forward at his own pace.

He could feel Blaine's breath on his cheek, could feel the warmth of his skin on his mouth. He waited, hoping...and sighed deeply when he heard his phone's alarm go off. Blaine startled at the noise, pulling back from their cuddling position to grope at the floor where Kurt had dropped the offending gadget last night.

Right. He had plans for today. They involved Rachel and Tiffany's and the fabulous sprawl of New York, and unfortunately not cuddling in bed with Blaine.

Blaine tossed the phone at him, a small, endearing pout pulling at his mouth. “You said you didn't want to leave until eight,” he griped, slinking back into the bed and pulling the covers up to his ears as Kurt fumbled to get the alarm off.

“Yes, and?”

“And it's six. Six in the morning, Kurt. Do you really need two hours to get ready?”

The glare Kurt sent Blaine's way did nothing to ease the pout on his face. Blaine was not an early riser. “This is New York city, Blaine. If I need an hour to get presentable for Lima Ohio, I'll need at least twice that to look good enough for New York.”

Kurt thought he heard Blaine mumble something about liking how he looked two minutes ago before they had been interrupted, and it was almost enough to make Kurt chuck his phone across the room and say 'screw it all'. But... New York. He wouldn't have a chance like this again for a long time.

Kurt slipped out of the bed and walked over to the closet, reaching for the garment bag with the suit he had picked out especially for this occasion. “You could come with us, you know,” he suggested, voice low as to not wake the girls just yet.

Blaine shook his head and burrowed further into the bed. “No, this is something you and Rachel need to do together. We'll have plenty of time for early morning walks around New York next year.”

Kurt smiled dreamily, clutching the long black bag to his chest. “When I'm in Nyada and you're studying...whatever it is you plan on studying at NYU. No more Ohio. No more small-town prejudice. Won't it be grand?”

Blaine hmm-ed lazily, eyes closed and already half-way back to sleep. “Go. Have fun. When Mercedes wakes up we'll get the others and try to finish those songs. How you people win competitions when you don't even have _music_ 12 hours before the competition is beyond me.”

Kurt just laughed and headed off to the bathroom. He had a lot of work to do.

*****

Blaine stood awkwardly in the middle of the crowd of performers, nodding encouragingly at Kurt every time he flitted nervously back and forth between him and Rachel. All the performances were over and everyone was just waiting for the results.

Kurt wandered over to him again, asking him what he thought of The Kiss. _It was unprofessional but no, he didn't think it would hurt their score_ , the same answer he had given a half dozen times already. Kurt smiled happily and bounded back over to Rachel, glaring at Jesse St. James in an adorably puppy-like manner.

Left to his own devices again Blaine wondered if he had time to get something to drink before Kurt needed his attention again. He turned to scan the lobby they were all milling about in, figuring he could at least make it to a vending machine and back before Kurt realized he was gone, when he caught a familiar face out of the corner of his eye.

He was debating whether he wanted to smile in joy or run in fear when Wes spotted him from across the room and immediately started towards him. Blaine moved away from the rest of New Directions, sliding into a small alcove at the edge of the room just as Wes caught up with him.

For a moment neither of them said anything. Blaine didn't even try, unsure of what he could possibly do to explain himself after nearly 5 months without a word to the other Warbler. Wes looked unsure, which then caused him to look distressed. He was never a man that had been unable to take action before.

Blaine's stomach dropped when he realized that Wes knew. This wasn't the uncertainty of a teenager that hadn't spoken to a friend in a while and wasn't sure where to pick back up, this was Wes not knowing if he should feel sorry for Blaine or pretend like nothing had happened at all. Blaine wasn't sure which he would prefer, but he was certain now that this was a bad idea. There was a reason he hadn't answered any of the calls from the Warblers all those months ago.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” Blaine finally asked, wondering how long was enough time before he could politely excuse himself and go throw up.

Wes looked relieved to have a subject to talk about other than Blaine's abrupt departure from Dalton. “My cousin. Her school is in the competition. My family came out to support her because her father had to be in California on business.”

“Oh right. Twelve Steps, from Marymount Girls School in LA. I remember. They were good.”

The conversation came to an awkward end then, both of them reverting back to looking nervously at the other, wanting to say more but not knowing where to start. Finally Wes coughed once, all poise and maturity, and smiled at Blaine.

“As you know, a few of the Warblers, myself included, will be graduating this year. The ceremony is in two weeks and I have been chosen as valedictorian. I will be giving a speech and I hear we are having a previous state Senator as quest speaker. Would you...come?”

Blaine's brain quickly went blank. Go back to Dalton. Face all of his friends with Grant sitting up on the stage with all the other teachers, like nothing had ever happened. “I-I can't, I...Wes, I want to but...”

“Everyone would really like to see you,” Wes insisted. “You've been missed. We've had no one to jump on the furniture since you've been gone. It's all been very...boring, to tell you the truth.”

 _I can't I can't I can't_ , Blaine's mind chanted at him. He felt his pulse quicken and his breath start to hitch. He wanted to walk away, he wanted Kurt. He wished he hadn't seen Wes. He wished he hadn't come here. He wished...

“Grant,” he finally forced passed his closed throat, trying to make Wes understand. Grant would be there and he would see him and he just couldn't. He couldn't. “Grant will...and I can't...”

Wes' eyes widened and he actually took a step back. “You mean...you didn't hear?”

“Hear what?” Blaine asked, the confusion at Wes' shocked response pulling him back from the brink of panic.

“Grant is gone,” Wes said. “He left months ago.”

It was Blaine's turn to be shocked. Grant wasn't at Dalton anymore? But how? Why?

He wasn't sure if he really wanted to know the answer. What could have possibly happened that would have made Grant leave? Blaine still remembered Detective Choi's words, the day that he had come to tell them that Grant wasn't being charged. He and Kurt had been eaves-dropping at the top of the staircase, ears pressed to the door, listening to the detective explain that everyone, everyone except the people in that house, believed that Grant was innocent. Choi had said Grant would try again, that he wouldn't stop with Blaine.

But if something else had happened, if Grant had gone after another boy, he would have heard, wouldn't he?

“The students staged a sit-out,” Wes explained, interrupting Blaine's sudden moment of fear. Blaine just stared at him in confusion.

Wes rolled his eyes. “Blaine...it took a few days, but eventually it got all over the school. With Grant being arrested on the lacrosse field for rape charges and then you leaving the school immediately after, it was fairly easy to figure out what had happened. Once everyone knew, we were incensed that Grant had been allowed back. But it seemed clear that no one was planning on doing anything about it. A few students even contact their parents, but they all thought that if the school trusted him still then so should we.”

Blaine felt his stomach turn at the thought that all of Dalton knew what had happened to him. They had been able to keep it a secret from the students at McKinley, but knowing that all of the Warblers, every student he had passed in the halls for nearly two years, knew he had been raped made his chest tighten and his eyes burn. He dug his fingernails into his palms and resisted the urge to turn and run right then. 

“So...what h-happened?” Blaine finally asked, cursing the stutter in his voice.

“We didn't agree. We believed you, Blaine,” Wes said, slow and clear, eyes locked with Blaine's as if he wanted to make sure that Blaine heard him. _We believed you_. Of course Blaine heard him. It's all Blaine had ever wanted to hear.

“The whole school did,” Wes continued, thankfully not mentioning the tears that had suddenly sprung to Blaine's eyes. “So we staged a sit-out. The first day took place a week after you left. That Monday morning Grant arrived to an empty classroom. When he went searching for his students he found them all sitting silently in the cafeteria. When he demanded they all go to class no one spoke. No one even looked at him. They just sat silently. They didn't say anything to the Dean either when he came to force them to go. When the period ended all the students stood and gathered their things and left to go to their next class, and Grant's next set of students walked in and sat down in their place.”

Blaine felt his eyes go wide, felt his hands slowly uncurl out of their tight fists.

“All 5 classes he had that day did the exact same thing,” Wes continued, watching Blaine intently, making sure he heard every word. “And the next day, and the next. Not a single student in the school would go to his classes. And none of the lacrosse team would play for him, either. They all showed up to practice every day in their gear, and then spent the entire practice period silently sitting on the bleachers.”

Every single student in the school had supported him without question. They had defied their teachers, the dean of the school himself, to show that they believed him. The tears finally welled over and slipped down Blaine's face. He turned away from Wes, sniffing loudly as he tried to get his throat to loosen up. They had all believed him. All of them.

“So w-what happened?” He finally choked out.

Wes shrugged. “At first they thought to wait it out, but the next week it started all over again. They didn't know what else to do, so they threatened to fail every single student that continued to refuse to go to class.”

“Everybody?” Oh that was bad. That was very bad. He was thankful for their support but he didn't want anyone else to get hurt because of him, because of Grant. “That would have ruined everyone's GPA,” he exclaimed, as if Wes didn't already know. “What about the students on scholarship? The Seniors trying to get into Ivy league schools? They couldn't just fail everyone.”

Wes smiled, that sinister sort of smile he got sometimes that reminded Blaine that Wes Montgomery was not a person to be trifled with. “That's what our parents said too.”

Blaine blinked at him in confusion. “But I thought they didn't believe you.”

“They didn't. But when you have two hundred students all risking their futures to prove a point...they started to listen. They may not have believed that you were telling the truth, but they certainly believed that we were willing to fight for you, even if you weren't there anymore.” The pointed look on Wes' face made Blaine feel guilty. They had all done this for him, without him even knowing it. Giving him their support even if he hadn't been brave enough to stick around and see it.

“I...what did they do?” he asked quietly.

Wes smiled again, a look that said he was pleased with himself. Blaine wondered if it had been his idea to begin with. If Wes had gone to all the students, while they were busy whispering about what had happened, and demanded they all band together to do something.

“After getting dozens of angry phone calls and threats of lawsuits and pulling donations from the school they finally had to relent. They couldn't fire him, because he had tenure, but they certainly couldn't keep him in a teaching position. He was moved to supervising the library, of all things. But after a few months of having students walk out of the library every time he was on duty he eventually just...left, tail between his legs so to speak. No one knows where he went. If the Dean does he didn't tell us. But he's gone.”

He's gone. Grant wasn't at Dalton. He had been run out of the school by Blaine's friends, because they had all supported him, believed in him, and had the courage to stand up and do something about it. Blaine wasn't even ashamed of the tears that started streaming down his cheeks again.

“I...” He wanted to say thank you. He wanted to hug Wes. He wanted to climb to the top of the Chrysler building and shout for joy. After so long hating the world for not punishing Grant it was more than he could bear to know that, in some way, justice had been done. Not by the police, or a judge, the ones who should have been protecting him, but by his friends.

“Would you have returned?” Wes asked, when the silence had gone on for an uncomfortable amount of time. “If you knew he had left?”

Blaine shook his head quickly, knowing that it was the truth. “No,” he said. It hadn't been about Grant, not completely. The Dean and the rest of the school authorities had turned their backs on him. He couldn't go back to a place that had called him a liar, a deviant and essentially a slut, just like his father.

“I thought as much,” Wes sighed. “Still, I wish you had known. You would have, if you had answered any of our phone calls over the last four months.”

Blaine blushed, feeling guilty again. He had cut the Warblers out of his life with the rest of Dalton, not knowing how much they cared about him, what they were willing to risk for him. He should have talked to them, should have explained. “Wes, I...”

“It's okay, we understand. Just...maybe when you're ready, you'll give us a call? We can have a Warbler reunion. Sing a Katy Perry song, for old times’ sake.”

Blaine smiled at that, turned away from Wes to wipe his face on his sleeve. Wes waited patiently for him to collect himself, hands clasped perfectly behind his back and eyes averted congenially. When he was finished Wes held out a gentlemanly hand and Blaine shook it happily.

Before they could say anything more Kurt came bounding up to them, grabbing Blaine by the hand and tugging. “They put up the winners! Wes, oh my god, hi!”

Wes hid his sudden smile behind a cough. Blaine had forgotten that Wes had never seen Kurt like this. He had never been so exuberant at Dalton.

“Is everything okay, are you okay?” Kurt asked, turning worried eyes to Blaine.

Blaine just smiled at him and nodded. “I'm fine, it's fine. Come on, let's go see who won and I'll explain everything later, okay?”

Kurt nodded, still a little worried if the crease between his brows was any indication, but he tugged on Blaine's hand again, too excited for the results to let the worry take over. Blaine turned back to Wes before Kurt could drag him too far away.

“Thanks, Wes,” he said, smiling genuinely at the other boy. “I'll call you, I promise.”

Blaine couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the day, not even with the disaster of New Directions twelfth place position on the board or the chaos that ensued back at the hotel.

Coming to New York was the best thing that had happened to Blaine. Well, second best. There was a staircase at Dalton that, even if the rest of the school was tainted by bad memories, would always hold a fond place in his heart.

*

Blaine padded softly up the stairs, the sound of the television drawing him into the living room. Burt was sitting on the couch, watching a re-run of Deadliest Catch. He looked up when he heard Blaine and smiled, moving over a little. There was plenty of room on the couch already, but Blaine took it for the invitation that it was and sat down next to him.

They sat in silence for a while, just watching the television and pretending like it was normal for two people to be up at four o'clock in the morning for no reason. When the show ended Burt changed the channel to the local early morning news. They were playing a segment about Nationals and McKinley's loss.

“Wish you had been up there?” Burt asked when a clip of the performance came up.

Blaine smiled and nodded. “A little,” he admitted. Kurt's glowing smile when New Directions had run off the stage after their second number had caused an ache in Blaine's chest; a _wanting_ for that feeling again.

“Maybe next year,” Burt said. Blaine didn't respond, but he held onto the thought, filed it away for later. The school year didn't even end for another two weeks, he had time.

They fell into silence again, both of them watching the reports about local food drives and summer programs for kids, neither of them really paying attention. There was a noise from upstairs and Blaine knew it was Carole, getting ready for her early shift.

That meant Kurt would make breakfast today, which meant decaf coffee and whole grain pancakes. Burt and Finn grumbled about it, but Blaine didn't mind too much. You could hardly tell if you used enough syrup.

It was now or never.

Blaine took a deep breath, readying himself to say what he had been working up to since he came up the stairs. Words shouldn't be so hard to say.

“Do you...” He stopped, cleared his throat and Burt turned to look at him, concern creasing lines into his forehead. Blaine tried again. “Do you...still have the number for the counselor that the doctor gave you?”

A stack of pamphlets and a note scribbled on top, handed to Burt all those months ago, a lifetime ago, because Blaine looked like he would fall apart with one more word, he must have because that's how he had felt.

'I know her personally,' the doctor had said, tapping the phone number. 'She's good at what she does. When he's ready, she can help.'

He wasn't ready. Not really. Wasn't sure if he ever would be, which is why he's doing it now, before he loses his courage again.

I want you to be you again. He could never be that person again; the person who thought the worst thing in the world was homophobic jocks and trying to be out and proud in nowhere Ohio. He had been naive then, despite everything he had already gone through. Saw the world through rose-colored glasses and expected the best of every situation just because he wanted it that way. 

He saw the world as a darker place now, and it was so much harder to smile.

But maybe someday he'd be able to be something else entirely. Not what he was then, and certainly not what he is now, but something...good.

“Yeah, kiddo,” Burt said gently, one hand gripping his shoulder tightly, the look on his face one of happiness, relief. “Yeah, I still have it.”

Blaine nodded and took in a deep breath.


	12. Epilogue

“Finn, we're going to be late!” Kurt's shrill voice was shouting at him from downstairs as Finn tripped over his backpack, scrambling to find everything he needed. It was the first day of their senior year and Kurt had been going on for weeks about wanting it to be perfect.

As Finn scrambled down the stairs of their new house, still not used to the landing in the middle, he kept bumping into the wall, he thought that they all deserved it. 

“Sorry,” Finn said as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “I promised Rachel I would wear the shirt she got me for my birthday, but I couldn't find it.”

Kurt turned around from where he was standing in the living room rooting through his bookbag and scowled as Finn stopped next to him.

“Dear god. I knew I should have gone shopping with her.” Finn glared and shoved his brother’s shoulder. Kurt just scowled some more and Blaine tried to hide his smirk behind the class schedule in his hand. No one mentioned that Kurt was supposed to go, that the only reason he hadn't was because Blaine had another flashback that day and Kurt couldn't leave him.

They didn't talk about it much anymore, the things like that. But not the way they did before, not like it was some big secret to keep. Blaine had bad days sometimes. They dealt with it, the lashing out and the nightmares and the tears, Blaine would have an extra session with his therapist, then they would all move on. It was just how things were now, and it got better every day.

Finn watched from across the room as Kurt turned to Blaine, a soft smile pulling at his mouth as he reached out and adjusted Blaine's bowtie. Blaine laughed and batted his hands away, his eyes wide and bright, no hint of the shame or fear he had lived with for so long. It wasn't gone for good, but it was gone for now and that was enough.

“Finn, come on,” Kurt huffed, draping his satchel over his shoulder as he grabbed Blaine's hand and they walked out the door.

Finn hiked up his backpack, settling the weight of it across his back, and turned to smile at his mom where she was watching them all from the kitchen doorway. She had cried earlier during breakfast, something about them all growing up so fast and how proud she was. She smiled back at him now and leaned into Burt's side. His arm came up to wrap around her automatically, but his eyes were still trained on the open door, on the sight of Kurt and Blaine laughing as they walked to the car hand in hand.

This year probably wouldn't be perfect. Finn had texted the glee guys before he came downstairs, telling them to be ready. He didn't know if they would be needed, but they were there, ready and waiting just in case. He had no idea what was going to happen this year, but as he closed the door behind him and jogged down the path to where Kurt and Blaine were waiting, eyes locked only on each other, smiles on both their faces that were wide and genuine, he was pretty sure that it was going to be something good.

*****

McKinley stood, squat and square and not nearly as frightening as it had been seven months ago. Students were pushing all around them, hurrying to classes or catching up with each other. The members of New Directions were slowly gathering by the front doors, waiting for the bell to signal what for many of them would be their final year of highschool.

As they all started making their way inside Blaine pulled Kurt aside, cutting off his conversation with Rachel to pull him behind a tree. Kurt smiled and moved in close to Blaine, eyes darting around quickly, still cautious of their surroundings before leaning in for a kiss.

Blaine smiled into Kurt's mouth, pulling his fingers free only to slip them through Kurt's belt loops and pull him closer. A lot had changed over the summer, starting with Blaine finally going to counseling and ending here, with this, the two of them together in that way they seemed to have been working towards since the day they met.

Blaine wondered sometimes how they would have ended up here, if things had gone differently. Not _if_ it would have happened, that much was a certainty, but how. If it would have been sooner or later. If Kurt would have been at Dalton still or if they would have been separated by his need to return to McKinley.

But then he decided it didn't matter, all the what ifs, because where he was now, with a family that loved him unconditionally and a boyfriend that would move the very stars for him, was perfect. It was where he belonged, without a doubt.

When the bell rang and Blaine grabbed Kurt's hand again, not because he needed to but because he could, he knew that whatever happened next they would face it together, and that was everything he could ever want.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, that's the end of this 'Verse. This series was my baby and I cried, sweated, and bled for it for a year. It was a joy and a heartache to write, and I hope I did justice to this very delicate situation. Thanks for reading!


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